


Eric Bittle, NBC 10

by foryouandbits



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Media, Angst, Anxiety, Background Kent/Tater, Canon typical alcohol use, Coming Out, Explicit Sexual Content, Hockey typical violence, Jack Zimmermann's Overdose, M/M, Mentions of Real Hockey Players, Not RPF, Pining, Service Dogs, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 09:03:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 82,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16615991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foryouandbits/pseuds/foryouandbits
Summary: In 2009, Jack Zimmermann was drafted 2nd overall to the Providence Falconers. After a tumultuous first season in the minors, Jack returns to the NHL and is named captain within a year. Known to the media as the "hockey robot," no one seems to be able to break through the polite barrier that Jack has built — no one until Eric Bittle, newest intern at NBC 10. Bitty, interning as a requirement for his journalism degree at nearby Samwell University, forms an instant connection with Jack. Throughout the rest of the season, and the rest of Bitty's junior year at Samwell, the two grow closer while learning how to both trust each other and succeed in their respective careers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note about formatting: Every chapter begins with one of Bitty's blog posts, which are meant to be an introduction to the theme of the chapter and may not fit in chronologically. Blog posts are separated from the rest of the fic by a horizontal line. 
> 
> Thanks as always to my lovely beta [Luckie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee) for her work on this fic.

"Hey y'all. You're going to have to forgive me for today's video. This…this is not going to be fun."

Eric Bittle stood facing his camera in front of the sometimes-functioning oven, wearing a wrinkled Samwell Men's Hockey T-shirt and his practice shorts. His blond hair was brushed messily off his forehead, showing off brown bloodshot eyes lined thickly with dark circles.

"Today we're going to talk about hangover food."

"Unnnhhhhhh, Bitty, don't mention food," said a voice from under the table.

"Hush, I'm filming!" scolded Bitty, his eyebrows furrowing unsympathetically as he aimed a kick toward the body out of frame. "You were the one who fell asleep under the table!" Bitty returned his eyes to the camera and put on his best smile, but unfortunately the expression came off pathetic and sallow. "Today we're going to talk about hangover food. Yours truly had a safe and well-paced evening but woke up with a bit of a headache –"

A loud snort of dissent came from under the table.

"Shitty, I swear to God if you're not quiet I'm getting Ransom and Holster to throw you onto the lawn."

Bitty looked back at the camera. "Yours truly had a safe and well-paced evening with a few guys on the team and woke up with a bit of a headache, so we're going to whip up something nice that will keep your stomach under control while getting you well-nourished for a full day of classes."

"Fuck, I have class," said Shitty. "Harvard class. They don't let you skip those."

"RANSOM! HOLSTER!" Bitty shouted toward the stairs.

"NO!" was the only reply.

A skillet was already heating on the stovetop; Bitty adjusted his camera onto the counter for a better cooking shot and began cracking eggs.

"Eggs are really the best route to go," said Bitty to the camera, his wrist whisking. "Apart from staying hydrated, there's nothing else better to get your body back to how it should feel. You don't want anything really heavy or greasy, and if you're like me and you don't have time before your nine a.m. lecture to make your MooMaw's chicken noodle soup, scrambled eggs will get you going. You just don't want them too runny –"

Bitty looked down at the yellow concoction of blended yolks and immediately threw up into the sink.

After rinsing his mouth out with water, the eggs went down the garbage disposal and Bitty reset his camera to the other side of the kitchen in front of the blender that was possibly as old as the oven. As he cut a banana into the pitcher, he looked to his left and forced another smile onto his lips.

"A good smoothie is a great way to battle off that electrolyte deficiency you can sometimes have from too much alcohol. Bananas restore potassium and, depending on the type of yogurt used, you can easily get in that protein to help sustain you until lunch. It's not too filling and not too threatening if you're on the queasy side."

Bitty dumped the entire contents of a tub of yogurt into the blender with a plop, threw in a few leafy greens "to keep it healthy," and topped it off with ice before he secured the lid. As soon as he pressed BLEND he realized his mistake; Shitty yelled and curled into a ball and Bitty let go and fell backward into a chair with both hands over his ears as he attempted to block out the noise. Ice caught in the spokes, causing the entire device to rattle on the counter. Another chunk threw the lid off, and within seconds the loud crackling quieted as yogurt, bananas, spinach, and ice sprayed onto the ceiling and cabinets.

"MY CAMERA!" Bitty yelled. He yanked his camera off the counter and cleaned it off with a rag, leaving Shitty to finally pick himself up off the floor and unplug the machine.

"Bruh, you're supposed to be good at cooking," said Shitty. "What the fuck?"

"Leave me alone, my head hurts," snapped Bitty. He reset the camera, facing opposite the giant mess he'd just made. One packet of microwavable Quaker Oats later, he sat at the table with a bowl and a spoon and said, "If you're really in a pinch, oatmeal works fine. Make sure you have plenty of fluids and ibuprofen on hand – just in case."

Bitty took one bite and hoped he got a decent shot before he vomited into the sink again.  
  


* * *

 

 

The best part about a professional hockey game was getting to watch the team warm up from the glass. Bitty stood as close as possible to the ice without actually being on it, his face just inches away from the divider as he attempted to see all the way down the length of the rink. The Providence Falconers were stretching and practicing drills directly in front of him, and he wanted to see if Dallas on the other end were following the same format. It was too difficult from this angle, so he returned his attention to the boys in front of him. Just five feet away, number seven was on his back with his feet in the air, swinging his legs back and forth. Further toward center ice, number one was juggling a puck between four others. The rest of the team was split between stretches and a fluid circle of shots on goal. The goalie seemed to only care about half of the attempts, his glove and stick doing most of the work, only ducking to cover shots when there was a gap in the attacking line.

Everything seemed natural. Despite being the first game of the regular season, the team moved seamlessly, each understanding his place on the Falconers' side of the ice. Even the rookies, boys younger than Bitty, had a spot in line and a distinct purpose. It was magical to watch, a constant, harmonious movement of professional hockey players. Bitty had never wanted to play at this level, not with the brutality turned up to maximum, but as he stood, his hands against the glass, he yearned for the life of a professional hockey player, getting to do this every day.

Number seven got up off the ice, but as he grabbed his stick, number thirty-two came rushing out of the line and checked him roughly into the boards right in front of Bitty. Bitty yelped at the sound of the rattling of the pane in front of him. He could feel the vibration in his bones; number seven cursed at number thirty-two, who laughed wholeheartedly and then skated away. Bitty collapsed on the seat behind him, his hand to his chest, when Chowder appeared.

"You okay, Bitty?" Chowder asked, concern etched into his face. Bitty nodded but he could still hear the sound of boards echoing in his ears. Chowder looked worriedly over his shoulder. "I think we should go to our seats. There's only a couple of minutes left and it can't be long before they realize we aren't supposed to be down here." Nursey clapped him on the back.

"C, don't worry about it," Nursey said. "If they tell us to leave we'll leave. Did you just see that 'swawesome save? You could pick up a thing or two from Snowy."

"Of course he could, he's a  _ professional goaltender,  _ Nursey," said Dex. "And quiet down, will you? You don't want them to know we don't belong —"

"THEY FOUND US OUT, BROS!" yelled Shitty from the walkway. Bitty looked up the stairs to see Shitty running up the rest of the bleacher seats and into the tunnel, leaving a confused and concerned volunteer in his wake. The volunteer, an old man with thick glasses and a flashlight, turned toward the ice and headed down three steps.

"I'm sorry," he said with a gentle smile, "we'll need you to take your seats now."

Bitty followed Chowder, Dex, and Nursey out the same tunnel that Shitty had run through to find him just on the other side, a hot dog in his hand, with Lardo double fisting plastic cups of beer next to him. They stood in the middle of the walkway, Falconers and Stars fans pushing past them with snide comments and dirty looks, but neither moved. Shitty stuffed half the hot dog in his mouth and then took one of the beers from Lardo before he acknowledged the presence of the rest of them.

"Ready to rumble, boys?" Shitty asked, nodding toward the escalators that led to the second level. While it would have been wonderful to watch the entire game from next to the glass, Bitty's hands were still shaking from the sudden check right in front of him, so he was thankful for the distance.

It wasn't his first visit to the Dunkin Donuts Center, nor his first professional hockey game, but Bitty found himself staring at the size of the building in awe. Faber was a wonderful rink and sometimes when they played afternoon games he'd take a moment from the bench to the look at the splendor of the sunlight and the ice in front of him, but it was so tiny compared to the volume of this place. As they waited on the escalator to ascend to the second floor, Bitty stared at the LED display that encompassed the grand main entrance to the rink. Three players were placed in front of a blue backdrop — Snowy, the goalie, number seven who had been checked in the boards in front of Bitty, and in the center, number one. Number one had the letter C sewn on the left side of his jersey. He looked intense, his pale blue eyes focused on a puck that wasn't there, his jaw set, his mouth frowning. Bitty remembered the captain's face from the billboards they'd seen along the highway and thought,  _ I really should learn their names _ .

"There they are!" said Chowder when they reached the top of the escalator. He bolted toward two large figures in front of a beer stand. "Ransom! Holster! You missed it! Robinson checked Mashkov into the glass right in front of us! It was 'swawesome! What have you been doing this whole time?"

It was very clear what Ransom and Holster had been doing this whole time when they turned around with nearly-empty cups of beer in their hands. Holster's eyes were already red but even though Ransom held his liquor a bit better, both of them were noticeably drunk.

"Yo, Chow, you're still driving us back, right? Because if I have to drive I should have stopped two drinks ago," said Holster, reaching out a hand to place on Chowder's shoulder but missing completely.

Chowder frowned.

"I guess I can," he said.

"No, I will be driving us back," said Dex. "I have a quiz at nine o'clock so I will be taking your drunk asses back to the Haus. If anyone pukes in the car you are cleaning it up. I am not cleaning up puke."

"Dex, you are a saint," said Shitty, accurately placing a hand on Dex's shoulder. "All right. We have fifteen minutes before the puck drops. Who's doing shots with me?"

"Do they have shots? I thought it was just beer," said Chowder, his eyebrows up so high they disappeared into his bangs. Shitty pointed down the concourse to a bar. Nursey steered Chowder towards it with both hands and Bitty followed closely behind.

Two shots and a beer later, Bitty sat in his seat on the second level, attempting to watch the puck as it flew back and forth across the ice. It was hard to see from this distance and at this speed. He leaned toward Dex, who was sitting with his arms crossed as Nursey kept hitting him on the back, and commented, "How do we even play this game? Look how fast!"

"Yes, it's very fast, Bitty," said Dex. Dex's entire face was beet red and his scowl was possibly the scowliest scowl Dex had ever worn. Bitty stared at him until Dex pointed at the rink. Bitty's eyes returned to the ice and just as he did, the Falconers' captain tipped a goal in and everyone around him jumped to their feet, Bitty included.

"YES ZIMMERMANN!" yelled Shitty from behind Bitty, grasping Bitty with both hands and shaking him. Bitty gripped Ransom next to him for stability and Ransom, assuming their celly was continuing, put both arms around Bitty and hugged Bitty tightly against his chest. When Bitty pulled his face out of Ransom's chest and could breathe again, he looked toward the ice and noticed they were on the Jumbotron, and immediately began waving, although the focus was more on Shitty, who had taken off his jersey and was swinging it over his head.

"ZIM-MER-MANN!" Shitty was chanting at this point, and several others around them were catching on. When play resumed again, their entire section was chanting for Captain Zimmermann. Bitty sat down and covered his ears to block out the noise from his already-pounding head.

The horn blared, sounding the end of the period, which caused Bitty to cover his ears again. Before anybody could get up to go to the bathroom, a woman with a microphone and a man with a video camera approached them. The woman tapped Shitty on the shoulder, who was still shirtless at this point.

"Hi!" she said brightly, earning stares from eight hockey bros. "I'm Christina Green from WEEI Providence — you look like you want to win a free T-shirt."

Shitty looked down at his bare chest and shrugged his shoulders. "Do I have to wear it?"

"No, but you're the best candidate I've met," said Christina. "Can I interest you in playing a little hockey trivia during the intermission? If you play, you get a T-shirt. If you win, you get a five hundred dollar Stop & Shop gift card."

"FUCK YEAH STOP & SHOP GIFT CARD!" yelled Holster, grabbing Shitty's shirt and twirling it over his head. The eight of them stood and followed Shitty toward the front of the balcony where the cameraman positioned both Shitty and Christina into frame. Bitty had his phone out to record the whole thing, and Lardo stood close by, whispering, " _ Bro, you have to send that to me. _ "

"This is going on the group chat," said Bitty with a laugh.

"What's your name?" Christina asked, and the seven other members of Samwell Men's Hockey started laughing; Bitty attempted to suppress his giggles since he was filming too.

"Are we recording?" Shitty asked. Christina shook her head. "It's Shitty."

"Your name is Shitty?" Christina asked with a side glance to her cameraman. Shitty nodded. "Well, um… this won't broadcast, but everyone in the arena will hear it, so…"

"YOU GOT SOMETHING AGAINST HIS NAME?" yelled Ransom.

"YEAH, YOU GOT SOMETHING AGAINST SHITTY?" yelled Holster.

"Boys," warned Lardo. "We want that gift card. Think about how many pies Bits could make with five hundred dollars."

"Ooh, right, right," said Holster, and he placed a hand over Ransom's mouth. Ransom placed a hand over Holster's mouth, and they shut each other up.

"What's your last name?" Christina asked.

"Knight," said Shitty.

"Okay. I think I'm just going to call you Mr. Knight." Christina looked at her cameraman. "Are we ready?"

Her cameraman nodded and Christina smoothed her long blonde hair with her fingers before she stood upright. Bitty watched as her entire face changed, the skepticism now gone and replaced by a stoic, but pleasant, expression. The cameraman nodded and Bitty noticed the shot in front of him reflected on the Jumbotron over the ice.

"What's up Providence?" Christina said and laughed sweetly when the stadium around her filled with cheers. "This is Christina from WEEI 103.7 and we are here to answer some sports trivia! I have here with me Mr. Knight who is going for a chance at five hundred dollars to spend at Stop & Shop. Mr. Knight, where are you from?"

The only real emotion Bitty could pick up from Christina was her brief hesitation before she held the microphone to Shitty's mouth.

"Well I am a first year law student at Harvard," said Shitty with uncharacteristic dignity, "but my bros here are from Samwell University! What up, SMH?" Shitty yelled loudly into the microphone, eliciting cheers from the entire group. Christina quickly returned the microphone to herself and continued on.

"Okay, this is the first game of the season so I'll explain how this works. I'm going to ask you five trivia questions and each correct answer will earn you one hundred dollars. They can be either about the history of our Providence Falconers —" Christina paused for cheers from the crowd, "— or from hockey history in general. Are you up to the challenge?"

"I am most ready, Christina," said Shitty.

"Wonderful. We'll start with an easy one. The captain of our Providence Falconers —" Christina paused again until the cheers died down, "— Jack Zimmermann is the son of what famous hockey legend?"

"BAD BOB ZIMMERMANN!" Shitty yelled into her microphone. Christina smiled a media smile.

"Correct. That's one hundred dollars in the bank for you! Now we're going to get a little tougher. What year did the Falconers earn their franchise?"

"2005!" Holster yelled before Shitty could stop to think about it.

"2005?" Shitty said tentatively, and Christina smiled.

"Correct again! Another hundred for you! Okay, another one. No help from your friends this time — how many teams are in the NHL?" Holster opened his mouth again and Christina pointed at him, which caused him to shut it and frown. Shitty looked to be counting in his mind, but Dex discreetly held up three fingers on his right hand and four on his left.

"Thirty-four."

"Correct again! That's three hundred dollars for you!"

"YES!" shouted Ransom. "SO MUCH PIE!" Ransom shook Bitty by the shoulders and Bitty pushed him away.

"Stop it, I'm filming this!" Bitty scolded.

"Two more questions, Mr. Knight, do you think you can do this?"

"I have got this!" yelled Shitty.

"Here we go, we're getting tougher now. What is the name of the first Providence Falconer to break 100 points in a season?" Shitty paused, looking at the rest of the team for help, but as Bitty looked around, no one seemed to know the answer. "I'll give you a hint: it was 2007 and this player is still on the team."

Shitty looked directly at Lardo for help, but she shook her head. Nursey was searching furiously on his phone but Christina set off an air horn before anyone could cheat enough to come up with an answer, and Shitty dropped his face into his hand.

"You were so confident!" said Christina. "It was Sebastien St. Martin, one of our alternate captains. He came in second place in the Art Ross Trophy race that year with a total of 113 points — thirty-four goals and seventy-nine assists. Okay, Mr. Knight, you have three hundred dollars in gift cards to Stop & Shop and a WEEI T-shirt. Thank you for playing!" The feed cut from the Jumbotron and Shitty let out a loud "FUCK YES!" which caused Christina to whip around toward the screen to ensure they were no longer broadcasting. She handed Shitty his T-shirt, three gift cards, and a form to sign, then bolted up the stairs.

 

***

 

The Falconers won easily. Neither Bitty nor any of his teammates actually acknowledged the win at that point, however, having all drunk themselves into a blackout state. Dex, the only sober member of the team, ushered everyone safely out of the arena and to the van. Ransom and Holster packed themselves in the back seat with Bitty squished in between them. Chowder ended up in one of the two captain's chairs, Shitty on the other with Lardo in his lap, and Nursey won the front seat.

"Brah," said Shitty with a kick to the back of Nursey's chair. "We should go to the lighthouse."

"YES!" shouted Ransom directly into Bitty's ear. Bitty winced. "LET'S FIND A LIGHTHOUSE."

"Guys, it's ten-thirty and we're an hour from school. Let's just go home," said Dex.

"LIGHTHOUSE!" yelled Lardo, and Dex looked at her in the rear view mirror. Dex sighed.

"I don't even know where there is a lighthouse," said Dex.

"Just drive toward the ocean, bruh," said Nursey, as if it were the most obvious solution possible. It was a clear night and everyone expected lighthouses to pop up at the end of every block, but Dex drove for half an hour before they finally found one. Dex pulled into the parking lot and everyone stumbled out of the van, falling over each other as they ran toward the tall white building in front of them. The smell of the ocean was strong here, the wind having picked up and blowing pleasantly against the overheated skin of six drunken boys and one drunken hockey manager. Bitty was the only one who felt cold, whereas Ransom and Holster bolted toward the sea with their arms stretched wide, ready to stand on the precipice and embrace the breeze that blew from the water.

"Ooh, this is pretty," said Bitty as he looked up. "Is it open?"

The lighthouse was closed to the public. A tall fence had been put up around the perimeter of the cylindrical building, but even uncoordinated and intoxicated as they were, a tall fence was no match for college athletes, and everyone (apart from Ransom and Holster, who were yelling at the sea) climbed over it with little resistance. The black entrance door, littered with NO TRESPASSING signs, was locked.

"Dex!" said Nursey, grabbing Dex from the back of the group. "You can pick a lock, right?"

"I mean, I can…" said Dex with reluctance, "but that doesn't mean I should. What if there's someone up there? We're at the ocean, we can see the lighthouse. Let's go back. If we leave right now I can probably still get a full night's sleep before my quiz."

"Oh fuck your quiz, Poindexter," said Shitty. "How many times in your life will you be on the Atlantic Ocean next to a lighthouse as beautiful as this one?" Shitty made a long, sweeping gesture toward the tall white building next to him, and Bitty tilted his head back as far as it would go to try to see the top.

"Well I work every summer on a lobster boat, so all the time," said Dex.

"Dexy," said Nursey, resting his arm on Dex's shoulder, "I really need you to unlock this door for us. All I want is one selfie on top of a lighthouse. Is that too much too ask? I mean, you're going to have to do it eventually. We're not going to stop bugging you until you do, and the sooner you do, the sooner we can go home."

"He's right," said Lardo. "Two minutes of selfies or twenty minutes of arguing about picking locks."

"And brah," said Shitty, "how come you never shared this lock-picking skill with us? Think about all of the late night dining hall raids we could have had if you'd revealed this information at the start?"

"I'm not picking the lock!" yelled Dex. "I'm going back to the van. I'd like to see you clowns get in there without me."

"Dex," said Nursey, leaning in and causing Dex's whole face to redden. "Come on. Just one lock." Dex looked around at the group; Shitty and Lardo were nodding enthusiastically, Nursey was just inches away from him, and Bitty was trying to observe the interaction while also craning his neck to see the top of the building.

"C?" Dex asked. "What do you think?"

"Well… I mean there is a sign that says we shouldn't." Everyone groaned. "But I wouldn't mind a nice photo at the top of the lighthouse! I think it'll be really pretty with the ocean behind us."

"Chowder," said Dex. "It's the middle of the night. You won't be able to see the ocean. It'll just be you, a railing, and black nothingness behind you."

"Oh," said Chowder.

A passing light illuminated the six of them and everyone froze when they realized it was from a car that had pulled into the parking lot.

"Fuck," said Dex.

They bolted back over the fence. Bitty grabbed Ransom and Holster from their yelling match with nature, and they all piled back into the van. As soon as they were all inside, Dex started the engine and peeled out of the parking lot, headed back toward home.

 

***

 

Five days after the Falconers' home opener, Bitty walked into his advisor's office with a plate of pumpkin muffins and an idea in his mind. Professor Atley accepted the muffins, as she always did, but seemed to notice immediately that Bitty had an agenda outside his normal check-in and baked goods delivery. She took off her glasses and set them on her desk after Bitty sat down.

"All right, Eric," she said. "What is it?"

"What?" Bitty asked sweetly. "I just wanted to check in. Talk to you about classes. I got an A on my last article for my sports writing class." Professor Atley stared at Bitty and his determined smile until he finally broke his resolve and slumped his shoulders. "Okay. Fine. I want to talk to you about my internship."

"Did you pick a location yet? I need those selections by next week. I know you said you wanted to do something sports related, which is why I think you should try for the Texas location. With your background in football —" Bitty crinkled his nose. "—with your  _ father's _ background in football, you'll fit right in. You'll be able to give live reports on every game."

"I was thinking about maybe going in a different direction. If it's okay," said Bitty. Professor Atley sighed and gestured for him to continue. "I was looking for job openings, just to see, and I found an opportunity at NBC 10 in Providence. They're looking for someone to help their field reporter who covers the Falconers games."

Professor Atley's lips pursed tightly together.

"Just an idea," said Bitty quickly.

"Eric," said Professor Atley with an air of finality, "the Teaching Media program at Samwell was created as an immersive opportunity with an approved news outlet. It's a way for our journalism majors to receive real-world experience in their chosen field.  Because you're majoring in broadcast journalism, you need to pick a program that will give you direct, on-air practice. I gave you several choices that will guarantee that. I know nothing about this internship. It hasn't been approved by the school and for all we know you could be getting coffee and lugging equipment around. How is that going to prepare you for your career?"

"Yeah, it could be that," said Bitty, "but it could be something more. Professor Watson said he used to work at that station. If he made a call, got some more information on what it'll really be like…"

"Eric," said Professor Atley. Bitty shut his mouth. "You're asking a lot. You're asking a favor of Professor Watson and you're asking a favor of me. I have to go to the Dean in order to get this exception approved and I have to give him specific, concrete reasons as to how this internship can replace one of the programs we as a school have already approved. And on top of that, we don't even know if you'll get the job."

"I have experience interviewing hockey players," said Bitty. "I can put together a highlight reel. I got to ask Sidney Crosby questions when I was at the Food and Wine festival before my senior year of high school. My YouTube channel is incredibly popular, enough to pay my tuition. I don't like to bring it up but I had my own special on the Travel Channel —"

"I have no doubt that you're qualified, Eric." Professor Atley frowned and Bitty tightened his grip on the chair underneath him. "Put together your resume and your highlight reel and bring it back to me. In the meantime I'll have Professor Watson make a call to the station to get more information. If the job responsibilities are acceptable and if we can give you a fighting chance at an offer, then I'll go to the Dean and make a case for you."

Bitty broke out into a smile. "Thank you so much," he said and jumped up out of his chair. "Oh, I'm being rude. Did you have anything you wanted to actually talk to me about today?"

"No, go home and put together your resume, but pick a program from the list as a backup. I can't make any guarantees. Thank you for the muffins."

"Thank you, Alice," said Bitty. He hurried out of the office.

It took the entire afternoon and late into the evening for Bitty to perfect the wording of his resume. He then searched through old recording archives to find something that would be relevant to an internship with a field reporter that primarily covered hockey. Bitty felt guilty for bragging so much in front of Professor Atley, as if any of his experience before Samwell actually mattered. He was very fortunate to have such a successful YouTube channel, and even more fortunate to have opportunities sprout from that success, but all of his opportunities revolved around food.

At ten o'clock, Bitty had finally found his interview footage from the Food and Wine Festival that occurred in the fall of 2012. That event marked the end of the most surreal summer of his life: he hit one million YouTube subscribers, filmed a miniseries about state fair desserts for the Travel Channel, and interviewed celebrities at a ritzy festival about beverages he was not yet old enough to consume. It felt like he had finally made a name for himself, however two weeks later he chose school over a sketchy freelance contract from the network. The best thing to come from that summer was a nice addition to his college applications, landing him an acceptance to one of the most prestigious broadcast journalism programs in the country.

The door opened behind him and Ransom and Holster popped inside. The sudden disturbance caused Bitty to jump in his chair. "Bro!" yelled Holster. "We are officially out of pie. I think I ate at least a hundred dollars' worth."

"Holster, lower your voice, we are inside," said Bitty, his heart still racing. "And I just made pumpkin bread and muffins this morning. Do not tell me they're all gone." Ransom and Holster exchanged a look. "Seriously? Did either of you eat dinner or did you just eat muffins?" Ransom and Holster exchanged another look. "Well I'm busy, so you're going to have to deal with it."

"What're you — OH MY GOD IS THAT HIGH SCHOOL YOU INTERVIEWING CELEBRITIES ON A RED CARPET?" Ransom grabbed the edge of Bitty's desk chair and pushed it all the way across the room before he and Holster took over the laptop, watching intently as seventeen-year-old Bitty, dressed in a black suit and tie, held a microphone out to Amy Poehler, who answered a question before both she and Bitty laughed.

Bitty leapt off his chair and attempted to wheedle in between Ransom and Holster to get at his computer, but he was no match for the pair of them. "LARDO!" yelled Holster out the door, one of his hands on Bitty's head to keep him at arm's length. "CHOWDER! EMERGENCY HAUS MEETING IN BITTY'S ROOM!"

Lardo, who lived just across the hall, wandered in first, followed shortly by Chowder. Holster picked up Bitty and set him down on his bed so he could step aside to reveal the footage that Ransom had enlarged to full screen on Bitty's monitor. Lardo's eyes went wide.

"Holy shit," she said. "Bits, why didn't you tell us you work red carpets on your time off?"

"I don't!" squeaked Bitty, still struggling against Holster's insistent grip. "This was just something I did one time in high school — guys, turn it off! This is embarrassing!"

"Absolutely not," said Ransom. "Lardo. Butt. Bitty. Now."

Lardo took over for Holster, replacing one of Holster's hands with her entire body to hold Bitty down. Bitty resigned himself to her weight and put his pillow over his face as his four Hausmates stared down the highlights from Bitty's interviews. There was a quiet awe in the room, but the silence was worse than if they'd been laughing, because Bitty could clearly hear his own questions as well as all of the responses. Nothing he asked was out of the ordinary or embarrassing, but he could feel the weight of regret all over his body. He should have locked his door.

Suddenly Ransom let out a squeal, the likes of which Bitty had never heard.

"OH MY GOD IS THAT SIDNEY CROSBY?"

Bitty tensed under Lardo's weight; Lardo shifted to get a better look. There was no denying it, because Bitty knew exactly what was coming next. "Sidney!" said Bitty's voice over the speakers. "You're just a few days away from the start of your season back home in Pittsburgh. What are you doing out here in Los Angeles?"

No one heard Sidney's reply because Ransom and Holster had thrown Lardo off of Bitty, torn away Bitty's pillow, and leaned in until they were both just inches away from his face.

"Bro," said Ransom.

"Bro," repeated Holster. "You've actually met Sidney Crosby?"

"Um…" said Bitty.

"Tell us how he smells," said Ransom.

"Normal, I guess? I wasn't that close to him."

"Your mic was right next to his mouth! You didn't smell it after he walked away?"

"Who would ever do that?" Bitty asked.

"Brah, anyone who's ever fucking met Sidney Crosby! Are you seriously telling me you don't remember how he smells?" Ransom asked, his voice kicking up a notch with every sentence as he grew more and more incredulous.

"No, Ransom, I don't remember how he smells," said Bitty. "Can you all please leave me alone now? I have to put together a highlight reel so I can apply for my TM. This is a big deal."

"Bro, I don't know where you're applying, but if you show them this footage of Sidney Crosby, you're a fucking shoe in," said Holster after he finally let go of Bitty. Ransom and Holster left first, followed by Lardo, but Chowder moved Bitty's chair back to his desk.

"Bitty?" Chowder asked. Bitty sat down in front of his desk again and looked at Chowder. "That's really cool. Just when I thought you couldn't get any cooler, it turns out you are." Chowder paused. "You've never met Brent Burns, have you?"

Bitty rolled his eyes. "No, Chowder, I've never met any of the Sharks. It was just a fluke that he was at that particular festival when I was there too. I was very lucky."

"Well I think it's 'swawesome," said Chowder, and he headed out the room. "Good night, Bitty."

"Good night, Chowder." 


	2. Chapter 2

"If you're the type of person who relies on the perks of a good first impression, I have a treat for you. Nothing says 'I'm thoughtful and wonderful' more than an array of mini pies," said Bitty while standing in the Haus kitchen in front of a carefully placed selection. Amongst the spread included latticed cherry pies, sugar crusted apple pies, and blueberry pies with star pattern cutouts. Night had long since fallen, the black sky just visible through the loose curtains. "I'm starting my internship tomorrow and I'm incredibly nervous. When I get nervous I bake things, and when I bake things, I include you. So let's see what we have here:

"I've already finished the fruit pies. If you have the time and the resources, definitely give your audience a good selection, even if it means just taking two or three of each. Here we've got enough fruit to satisfy everyone's taste. You could stop there, but if you're me, you're not going to stop there. Let's throw some more into the mix to be sure not to leave anyone out."

Bitty adjusted the camera to the counter in front of the standing mixer and stovetop. The time on the backsplash was just visible, reading 2:32. "I've already got my lemon filling on the stove here and now I'm going to make the meringue. The secret to a great meringue is knowing when to stop mixing." Bitty turned on the mixer in front of him.

"If you're not an avid baker yourself or if you're new to my channel, you might be thinking that I'm going over the top, but this is not as deep into baking hell I've been. I once woke up at the kitchen table surrounded by hundreds of cookies. I had ten minutes before my first final and I hadn't studied at all. I don't remember how that happened. I passed the class, though, so I did something right. A few types of mini pies before my first day at a new job is nothing. I'll have to do a vlog at work to update y'all on whether or not they like me," said Bitty with a tiny laugh.

"DUDE!"

Bitty turned around abruptly. Holster stood in the doorway in nothing but his boxers, rubbing his eyes underneath the lens of his glasses. "Holster! Why are you awake?" asked Bitty.

"I'm thirsty and I don't have class until noon. Why are you awake? It's almost three," explained Holster as he wandered toward the fridge. Bitty's eyes darted at the time, 2:41, and then to his meringue and he shut off the mixer.

"Just making some pies for my new coworkers."

"Bitty," said Holster. He detoured from the fridge and placed both hands on Bitty's shoulders. Bitty's eyes landed on the deep notch in between Holster's collarbones. "Go to sleep. You have to be up in three hours to get there on time. You have plenty of mini pies. Just be your normal Georgia self and they will love you like the rest of us."

"You're just saying that because you like my cooking," said Bitty.

"I like more than your cooking. I am going to steal a mini pie or five before I go to sleep, though. And some for Rans. He's not awake but he'll hear me eating. How many did you make?"

"Not enough for you to steal them all!" exclaimed Bitty, but Holster had already scooped up half a dozen pies, a bottle of water, and was out the door. "Holster! I need those for people to like me!"

"Good luck tomorrow, Bitty!" Holster called over his shoulder. Bitty looked at the camera, panicked.

 

* * *

  
  


After winter break Bitty drove his beloved truck, Blue Ivy, from Madison to Samwell over the course of two days. It was the first time Blue had made a journey that far, and Bitty was tense all the way from Georgia to Massachusetts. She made an ominous noise outside of Philadelphia, which caused Bitty to panic and call Coach at the next rest stop, but the truck made the drive in one piece and Bitty arrived safely back at the Haus the day before his internship began.

Not all of the Samwell Men's Hockey team were back from break yet, but Nursey and Dex were in the Haus raiding the refrigerator for food when Bitty parked his truck on the street and brought his two suitcases inside — he needed a completely different wardrobe this semester for his internship, and most of that wardrobe had been inside his closet in Madison. Bitty was about to drag his luggage upstairs when Dex appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, holding a jar of peanut butter with a spoon sticking out of it.

"Bitty, is that your truck outside?" Dex asked.

"William Poindexter!" Bitty scolded at the sight of Dex; Bitty dropped his suitcases and placed both hands on his hips. "Do not tell me you are eating my homemade peanut butter  _ straight out of the jar _ ?"

Dex's ears went pink and he thrust the jar into Nursey's hand, which disappeared out of sight. Bitty raised his eyebrows, expecting an explanation, when Dex just thumbed outside again. "Is that your truck?" Dex repeated.

"Yes," said Bitty. "The station is an hour away and the train doesn't go directly there. I need my car if I'm going to live here and work there."

"It doesn't sound too good," said Dex. Bitty picked up the handles of both suitcases.

"She runs just fine, Dex. I don't need your —"

"I could take a look at it, if you want," said Dex. "I spent a lot of time at my uncle's repair shop in high school. It might just be the belts."

Bitty wanted to be angry at Dex for violating one of his most important peanut butter rules, but Blue had been rattling since Pennsylvania and Bitty needed her to last until April. Bitty nodded and handed the keys over to Dex, who took them and put his winter coat on before he headed outside. Bitty deposited his suitcases in his room and joined them; Dex was digging around under the hood and Nursey was observing with a mug of coffee and a skeptical expression.

"So you can just look at that and know what's wrong?" Nursey asked Dex as Bitty approached. Dex shot Nursey a critical look before he pulled a stick out of a hole and wiped it off with a dirty rag before replacing it.

"Yes, Nursey, if you know how it's supposed to work, you can figure out what's wrong with it just by looking at it," said Dex. "I'm going to have to start it up to make sure, but — hey Bitty — these belts are kind of loose, and these filters look pretty old."

"Is this going to be expensive?" Bitty asked. "Because they are going to pay me intern wages and something tells me most of that is going towards gas."

"Nah, I can get it online for cheap," said Dex. "If you don't fix it now you're just going to run into problems when it gets super cold."

Bitty burrowed into his scarf; he'd just spent three weeks in Georgia. It was already super cold.

"You might want to replace your battery too. Do you remember the last time you did that?" Dex asked. Bitty shook his head. "Yeah, you should do that. Those can be kind of expensive, depending which one you need, but if you're parking outside the last thing you want is to get stranded in Providence. The rest of it looks fine. Not great — it's definitely old — but fine."

"Do you think she'll be okay until the end of the semester?" Bitty asked.

"Yeah, probably. I might have to tweak it here and there, but I'll keep an eye on it. Let me know if it makes weird noises or blows up or something."

"Way to be chill, Dex," said Nursey when Bitty's eyes opened wider than usual.

"I was being chill!" said Dex, which caused Nursey to snort. "Whatever, Nursey. Go back inside and let me finish here in peace." Nursey didn't move; he stayed leaning on the side of the truck. Dex shot him another pointed glare but continued to check parts that Bitty couldn't name. After a few minutes Dex shut the hood and they walked back inside. "You'll be fine, Bitty. I'll order those parts today so I can get them in as soon as possible. When does your internship start?"

"Tomorrow. I'm so nervous."

"You'll be fine, Bitty," said Nursey. "I've seen your channel. You're a pro at this."

"A pro at food, maybe," said Bitty. "Hockey players are a completely different beast. I just don't want someone to punch me in the face if I ask a bad question."

"No one's going to punch you in the face, Bitty," said Nursey. "And what's the likelihood of you actually getting to talk to them anyway? They're probably going to make you go on coffee runs or sit in the back and edit footage or something trivial and demeaning like that."

"Thanks, Nursey," said Bitty. 

 

***

 

Bitty entered the lobby of NBC 10 at 7:55 AM on Monday morning. Traffic wasn't horrible, but it was considerably more than he expected, and he was relieved to see the time displayed behind the reception desk. He wasn't late, he had two dozen mini-pies, and despite only getting three hours of sleep, he had enough Monster in his bag to make it through the day.

The receptionist, a redheaded woman who eyed his Tupperware containers with heavy skepticism, greeted him when he approached. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm Eric Bittle," he said, juggling his mini pies out of the way so he could extend a hand to her. She did not take it. "I'm interning with Jason Davis. It's my first day."

"Jason's not in yet. Let me call Michael." She eyed the mini-pies again as she picked up the phone. After a few words she hung up. "He's on his way out."

"Do you want a mini pie? I have several kinds."

"No thanks," she said. "You can wait over there."

Bitty sat on the end of a row of chairs along the wall nearest the reception desk. The station's lobby was pristine; the receptionist wore impressive hair and makeup and sat behind a crescent shaped desk in front of the NBC 10 logo, the wall lit from below in a deep, cobalt blue. Three televisions were mounted to the left of the desk, each displaying live feed from NBC and its affiliates. The Today show was on, so Bitty casually watched it until someone appeared.

Michael Carmichael, the man who had signed Bitty's offer letter, approached Bitty from down the hallway. Michael was in his late forties, from what Bitty could estimate, with salt-and-pepper hair and a mostly black mustache. He had the kind of worn look that befitted the News Director of the most popular station in Providence, but the lazy, well-fed look of someone with a lot of money and a private life of leisure. Bitty stood and shook his hand. 

"Eric," Michael said with a bristly smile, and while Bitty wanted to correct him, "Bitty" probably wasn't the name he wanted to use in his professional life. "I'm glad you're here. We've wanted to provide Jason with an intern for a long time. I'll bring you down to the HR office for your orientation and they'll be able to give you a tour of the building. Jason should be here by the time you're finished. What is this?"

Michael gestured to the containers.

"I brought mini pies," said Bitty.

Michael smiled and when he did, his upper lip disappeared under his mustache. "I'd expect nothing less from a food blogger. We'll swing by the break room on the way back and you can set those down."

The station was busy and Michael the busiest of them all. The trip to the break room in the back of the building should have been a simple two or three minute walk, but fifteen minutes and six conversations about deadlines, edits, and copy later, they finally made it there. Bitty set down the two containers on the counter and turned around to find Michael in the middle of another conversation with a man Bitty recognized as someone who walked in during his interview back in November.

"Eric," said Michael, reaching out a long, pudgy arm for Bitty, "I think you've met before, but this is Peter Del Rio, our General Manager. Pete, this is Eric Bittle, our new sports intern for Jason."

"Pleasure," said Peter. Unlike Michael, Peter was a short, thin man with tan skin and pure white hair. He looked kind, like he could have been Bitty's grandpa, but he was a man who didn't mince words. "Mike. Four o'clock. Not a second later."

Peter darted off in the opposite direction; Michael grabbed Bitty by the shoulders and pushed him back toward the front of the station. They were only stopped twice before Bitty was dropped off with the HR team. Two hours and ten forms later, Bitty was escorted to a cubicle inside a maze that dominated the second floor of the station. His desk was next to Jason Davis's desk, but Jason Davis was not at it. Bitty glanced at the time – just past ten-thirty.

Unsure of what else to do, Bitty turned on his Macbook and began clicking through the programs on his desktop; he was familiar with some of the video editing software there, but was certain he wouldn't be using it for actual news stories. The HR team had given him an official tour of the station, including the editing room, and the computers in there were considerably nicer than what Bitty had at his desk.

Jason showed up after eleven. He dumped his shoulder bag onto his chair, downed the rest of his Starbucks, and tossed the cup into the garbage. Jason was tall and athletic, the kind of person Bitty expected to be a sports reporter, but from the fit of his suit it was clear it had been a long time since he'd participated in any kind of physical activity. His dishwater blonde hair was styled and combed out of his face, but he smelled faintly of booze and cigarettes, which Bitty assumed was why he opened up his top drawer and pulled out a bottle of Armani cologne that he sprayed liberally on himself.

Bitty wheeled around in his chair and smiled politely at Jason. Jason returned his cologne to his desk drawer and slammed it shut before he finally looked over and said, "Who the fuck are you?"

Bitty's smile disappeared from his face.

"I'm Eric," he said. "I'm your intern."

"Oh, right," said Jason, but he made no further attempt at conversation before he turned on his computer and began typing away. Bitty lifted a finger and opened his mouth, prepared to ask for work, but then he returned to his computer.

At eleven-thirty, Jason stood up. "I've got to run for post-practice interviews. Thirdy's got some kind of injury that might keep him out for the next few games, which blows because they literally just broke their streak yesterday in Vegas. They haven't lost since fucking November, then Thirdy gets tripped up so badly he has to leave during the second, Tater was so distracted he played like ass, and you know Zimmermann can't keep his shit together when he's up against Parson."

"Um, right," said Bitty.

Jason stared at him.

"Do you have any idea what I just said?" Jason asked.

"Zimmermann can't keep his shit together when he's up against Kent Parson." Jason slung his bag over his shoulder and picked up a granola bar from the box on his desk. Bitty contemplated mentioning the mini-pies in the break room, but decided against it when Jason spoke again:

"What's Thirdy's name?"

Bitty felt the panic rise in his blood; he knew he should have memorized names over break, but instead he made Christmas cookies for the whole neighborhood like an idiot. Bitty didn't respond and Jason violently pushed his chair back under his desk.

"That's what I thought," he said. "I know they liked you a lot, kid, because you had a blog and a TV show and whatever, but this is hockey, and not your peewee bullshit Samwell University hockey either. This is blood and guts, fists to the face and sticks to the back hockey. I was going to take you with me but I don't want to embarrass us both. I'll be back at five. If you don't know the team by then — Providence's  _ only _ big four sports team — I'm going to recommend you not come back tomorrow."

Jason stormed off, leaving Bitty alone, tears threatening.

 

***

 

Bitty spent the next six hours researching the staff and each of the thirty-four players on the roster, including those on injured reserve as well as the twelve rookies that had bounced up and down between the Falconers and their AHL feeder team in Louisville. He started by printing a list of each of these people and their positions or titles, then hung it up in his cube with the five push pins he'd been provided in his desk. For the rest of the day he googled everyone, tackling the younger and less-important players first and then the media targets such as Sebastien St. Martin, Alexei Mashkov, Randall Robinson the third (who Bitty now knew as Thirdy), and of course, Jack Zimmermann.

There was by far the most information on Jack. Bitty traveled on the roller coaster of emotions that followed Jack's career, from the promising son of a hockey legend to an eighteen-year-old second overall draft pick that overdosed three weeks after his selection. Once Jack was called up to the Falconers from Louisville he became the face of the franchise, giving Bitty hours of promos, photos, and video to weed through.

Jack's Instagram was the best find of the bunch, even better than his unexpectedly sexy Gatorade commercial or his predictably dorky Travel Rhode Island commercial. Finding a picture of Jack on his own Instagram was rare, but Bitty spent the better part of an hour scrolling through hundreds of posts of a dog named Wayne, and spent a solid five minutes watching a video of the black Shar Pei snoring in a patch of sun on a hardwood floor. Jack desperately needed some social media intervention, since ninety-five percent of his posts were just photos or videos of his dog along with  _ #wayne _ . Those few that included Jack's face were clearly just advertisements written by a sponsor. If Jack were not so attractive, and not so obviously skilled at the sport, it would have been hard to understand why he was the face the Falconers chose to brand their team.

Jason returned just before five o'clock. His eyes scanned the contents of Bitty's cube. He set his bag down on his chair and stepped up to the half wall next to Bitty's computer. "Thirdy?" Jason asked.

"Randall Robinson the third."

"Number?"

"Thirty-two."

"Number twenty-five," Jason challenged again.

"Fitzgerald. Rookie."

"Nickname?"

"Poots," said Bitty.

"Why?"

Bitty clasped his mouth tight to prevent a squeak from coming out; he had no idea, and he'd spent so much time looking up nicknames specifically and the story behind each of them, because not all of them made sense. He should have spent more time on the rookies. He could feel tears welling in his eyes and didn't want to end this horrible day by crying in front of the first actual sports reporter he'd ever met.

"Lighten up, kid," said Jason, offering an unconvincing smile, "it doesn't get around. Someone let one rip during Poots' first interview — I seriously think it was Marty — and everyone blamed it on Poots because he's a rook. I think I was the first one to call him that. It stuck and now he's just Poots." Jason nodded toward the stairs. "Come on, I'll show you the editing room. There's a decent amount of footage for primetime tonight and not a lot of time to pare it down before seven."

Bitty's knees were wobbly the entire walk to the editing room, but Jason seemed to be in a better mood. They stopped at the break room first and Jason filled his travel mug with coffee. Bitty glanced at the Tupperware containers; one was completely empty and the other only had two left, the crumbly two that hadn't traveled well from the Haus. Bitty let out a sigh of relief at the sight of them, which Jason seemed to notice.

"You make these?" Jason asked. Bitty nodded. Jason didn't take one, which caused Bitty to frown after Jason walked by. In the editing room, there were several people at computers, each wearing headphones and typing or clicking furiously at different types of footage in front of them. Footage for the five o'clock news was already ready, but it was easy to tell those working on the six o'clock stories as compared to those working on seven or eleven o'clock by their posture and whether or not they looked up when Bitty and Jason entered the room.

Jason sat down next to a man with glasses like Holster's but hair like Dex's. He also had a beard, which would not have suited Dex but suited this man just fine, since it was slightly darker than the hair on his head. There wasn't a seat for Bitty, so Bitty stood behind Jason and waited to be introduced.

"Sandy," said Jason, "this is my intern Eric. We've got him the rest of the season. What've you got for me for six?"

Sandy gave Bitty the briefest of nods before he replied to Jason. "Tightening up this interview with Thirdy. You wanted to save Jack's response to the Aces loss for eleven, right?" Jason nodded. "I've got it here so you can work on that next." Bitty watched Jason's face tighten when Sandy emphasized  _ you _ . Sandy handed over a set of headphones for Jason to listen to the piece; it was only about twenty seconds of talking before the shot flipped back to a highlight of the game against the Aces the night before and the rough check that resulted in Thirdy's injury.

Jason nodded. "Yeah, that's fine. Can you get some of Tater's interview in there? He played like shit and people want to call him out on it. Where's that part where I call him out on it?" Sandy forwarded through several minutes of dressing room interviews before he stopped on Tater's face. Jason listened for a minute before he nodded. "Yeah, that. Make sure that gets in there. Eric, sit here and learn how it gets done."

Bitty took Jason's seat and headphones. Sandy worked quickly but nothing he did was unfamiliar. The editing software was different but the premise and functionality were essentially the same, and Sandy had clearly been doing this a long time. He zoomed through cuts and trimmed thirty-second snippets perfectly every time. He knew when to start and end a cut without leaving awkward pauses or weird facial expressions, and his addition of taglines was succinct but informative. It was spectacular to witness.

"You get what I'm doing here, kid?" Sandy asked. Bitty nodded.

"Yeah, I'm not familiar with this program but it's really similar to what I use for my vlog."

"So you've got this down?" Jason asked.

"I mean I could probably figure it out if I needed to. It seems pretty straight forward."

"Awesome, then you can edit my Jack interview for tonight. Give me no more than twenty seconds of his interview and throw in an additional fifteen of shots from his game last night. Focus on how they're going to change their tactics for the Rangers tomorrow but don't neglect the fact that they broke their winning streak against the Aces. The Aces are their hardest battle."

"Yeah, I can try that —" Jason turned around and walked out the door. "Okay," said Bitty. "I guess I'm doing that by myself."

"You can pull up the reel here," said Sandy, tapping the computer next to him. "I'm here if you have questions. The tagline's the most important because anything Jack says will be useless. 'It was a tough loss but we're looking forward and taking it one game at a time' or 'We're focusing on the Rangers and putting this behind us. It's never fun to lose a game but if we can stay ahead in the division' blah blah blah. He never gives you anything real."

Sandy's opinion was not a surprise. Most of the interviews Bitty found on FalcsTV said no more than what Sandy made up on the spot — Jack was not one for specifics, nor did he ever speak poorly about another team or player. He always looked forward, always wanted to improve, and never allowed the interview to spiral out of control. Worst of all of it, he never smiled, not really, and kept himself cool and collected regardless if he'd just shut out a rival or lost in the playoffs.

If the segment wasn't airing until eleven o'clock, Bitty had plenty of time to figure out the way the editing software worked and listen to Jack's seven minutes of post-game interview to determine which twenty seconds were the best. It was hard to tell, with most of the answers being the same, but Bitty figured Jason would want his own question included, and Jack's answer to that was no more exciting than any of the others.

"What's your strategy when the Aces return in February? How do you beat out Kent Parson in that game?" Jason's voice asked. Bitty watched Jack's face as Jason mentioned Kent Parson. In his research that afternoon, Bitty uncovered a lot of history between Jack Zimmermann and Kent Parson that he didn't expect to read. Bitty was surprised that Jack and Kent were such good friends prior to the draft, especially considering they were top prospects and played up as rivals. Bitty was even more surprised at the rumors that surfaced in every comment section on every video, news article, and social media posts that they had been much more than friends.

Jack's face tightened almost imperceptibly when Kent's name was spoken; Bitty rewinded three times to make sure it was there. It was, and Bitty kept the question in the cut because he knew it was important. Jack's answer, however, left much to be desired.

"We had a really good run in December," said Jack, "and we were all hoping to keep it up now that we're in the New Year. We've got forty-five games left to prep for. That includes when the Aces come here in February, and that includes tomorrow against the Rangers. They're in the division. That game matters and we've got to keep our focus."

Jack spoke easily, years of experience dotting every word. His voice was low and smooth; it was clear he was Canadian from his accent. His eyes were the most attractive part of his face (although, Bitty realized after staring for too long, there were many attractive parts of his face). Bitty waited for Jack to look at the camera, but he looked at Jason instead when he replied, which was disappointing. As Bitty listened to the rest of the interview, Jack never once looked at the camera. His reply to Jason's question was the best answer Bitty was going to get, so he cut it down and saved it before he moved on to the highlights from the game.

The entire game against the Aces was on the hard drive, all three hours of it, and when Bitty pulled it up he felt immediately overwhelmed. Sandy seemed to notice right away.

"Don't look at the whole game," he said. "That's only if you want to make highlight reels or something, which we usually don't do here. We usually use the ones the NHL pre-cuts for us." Sandy went back to the file folder and pulled up ten minutes of highlights that were already divided and labeled. "Use this instead. You can refer back to the game if you know of a play that they didn't showcase, but this should have everything you need."

"Oh, thank you," said Bitty.

"No problem," said Sandy. Bitty glanced at his computer — Sandy was working on a story for the New England Patriots now that his hockey reels were done. Bitty cut down the footage to a few of Jack's bad checks and missed shots, then spliced it all together and placed a tagline at the bottom reading "Aces break Falconers win streak." At eight o'clock he saved the clip on the shared drive and looked over at Sandy.

"You done?" Sandy asked. Bitty nodded. Sandy pulled up the clip and thirty-five seconds later, he nodded.

"Nice. You've got some good transitions here. You said you've got a vlog?" Sandy asked. Bitty nodded. "Is it about hockey?"

"No, it's about food," said Bitty, suddenly feeling very silly. "Most about baked goods, really. Jam and pie and stuff."

"Pie?" Sandy asked. "Were you the one who brought those mini-pies this morning?" Bitty nodded. "They were amazing. I think I ate five. They were way better than whatever my wife packed for me."

"Did you just eat mini-pies for lunch?" Bitty asked and Sandy laughed.

"Maybe," he said. "Listen, this is really good, but I'm not sure you should have done such a good job right off the bat. Not that I want you to risk your job or anything, but Jason's been asked time and time again to edit his own footage if he's not on the road and he always finds a way to skip out of it. In the end one of us picks it up because it's got to be done. We can't run news without footage. If he knows that you're good at it he's just going to pawn it off on you, and you'll spend the next five months in this dark editing room with us losers."

"Oh," said Bitty. "I kind of like doing this."

"Definitely don't tell him that," said Sandy, "but I'm glad you do. That means I can actually get out of here at a decent hour."

Jason returned at nine o'clock with another cup of coffee. He glanced over Bitty's footage, deemed it acceptable, and took him back to their cube.

"I'll see you tomorrow, kid," Jason said. "On game days, depending on how important it is, we might go to morning skate at eleven o'clock, but we always go to the arena at three. Non game days we pop by practice, usually around eleven-thirty or noon. They told me you're not allowed to come on roadies, which blows. I don't give a shit what you do when we're traveling, but I need you here every other day."

"So I'm allowed to come back?" Bitty asked hopefully. Jason looked Bitty over and nodded before he grabbed his bag and left without another word.

 

***

 

Because of his internship, Bitty was excused from participating in student activities. However, four months without hockey meant four months of setbacks on his slow but upward progress from fourth string to third string to second string. Coach Hall and Coach Murray encouraged him to attend practice when possible, but since he was unable to commit to regular attendance, he was prohibited from playing in games. Bitty was okay with this, but as he looked at the relentless Falconers schedule over the course of the semester, he wondered how much progress he'd actually be able to make when missing the rigid routine he'd grown accustomed to over the past two and a half years.

It was midnight and he'd finally finished writing all of the Falconers' game and practice times on his calendar. He looked back through his open door and across the hall at Lardo's open door, but Lardo wasn't in sight.

"LARDO!" he yelled.

"BITS!" yelled Lardo back from somewhere inside her room. Bitty still couldn't see her, but it had been a very long day so he decided moving was not worth the effort.

"WHAT TIME IS PRACTICE THURSDAY?" he shouted, not even bothering any longer to look for her. He turned his calendar back to January. "I THINK I CAN COME MOST THURSDAYS."

"SAME TIME IT'S BEEN EVERY THURSDAY SINCE YOU WERE A FROG, BITS."

Bitty paused, flipping back through his calendar to the previous year, but he never wrote it down. He actually never wrote anything in his calendar. The last note he'd written was in October — _Parents weekend. Be less gay._

"SO WHAT TIME?" he yelled.

"SEVEN O'CLOCK YOU NUMB NUTS!" shouted Holster from up the stairs. "JESUS FUCK, BITTY, IT'S MIDNIGHT AND RANS HAS A QUIZ IN THE MORNING."

"HOLTZY, DON'T YOU YELL AT BITS," shouted Lardo from her room.

"RANSOM IS IN FULL CORAL REEF MODE GUYS AND IT IS THE FIRST WEEK OF CLASSES. DEF CON ONE UP HERE. STOP SHOUTING," shouted Holster.

"MAYBE EVERYONE STOP SHOUTING?" shouted Chowder from his room.

"STOP SHOUTING CHOWDER" Lardo shouted.

"YEAH CHOWDER," shouted Holster.

"NO ONE SHOUT AT MY CHOWDER! HE IS AN ANGEL FROM HEAVEN," shouted Bitty, still flipping through his calendar. He wrote  _ 7:00 Faber _ on every Thursday without a Falconers practice.

"THANKS BITTY," shouted Chowder from his room.

"YOU'RE WELCOME MY FAVORITE FROG!" shouted Bitty as he flipped into February and kept writing.

"EVERYONE SHUT UP! J-F-C, WHY DOES THIS HAPPEN EVERY DAY?" shouted Holster from upstairs. Bitty smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh my God, y'all, just take a look at this!"

Bitty lifted the camera over his head for a better shot out the window. The press box was empty; most of the crews were set up on the benches at ice level to get footage for evening broadcast. He zoomed as much as possible without diluting the quality of the picture, focusing more on the players he'd gotten to know in his short tenure at the station – Tater was first in the line to shoot at Snowy, but missed and hit the glass instead; Marty and Thirdy were weaving around each other as they passed the puck back and forth between them; and Jack knelt on a dot to the left of center, re-lacing his right skate. Bitty focused specifically on Jack and rested his elbows on the railing to steady the shot.

"That's Jack," Bitty explained. "He relaces his skates at the same time every practice. There are thirty minutes left before they go back to the dressing room. It's like clockwork." Jack finished his right skate and switched knees to tie the other. Bitty kept the camera directed at Jack until he stood up, grabbed a loose puck from the ice, and joined the shooting line.

There were too many points of interest and not enough time before Bitty had to return to the dressing room for post-practice interviews; he shifted focus from the ice and instead poked around at the catering spread lining the back of the box. "Look at all of this cheese! Seriously, who's going to eat that much cheese? Don't even look at the danishes, though. They're garbage." Beyond factory-made danishes and exorbitant amounts of cheese, Bitty also had to show off the Falconers logo on the floor of the empty dressing room, the surprisingly large quantities of cotton, gauze, and false teeth in the onsite dentist's office, and the unique player specifications of how to sharpen skates and trim sticks in the equipment room. Bitty couldn't help but comment heavily on everything he found, and he had to take a moment to speak to Jeremy the Assistant Equipment Manager after Bitty discovered a list of all of Jack Zimmermann's specifications.

"Is this for real?" Bitty asked, pointing the lens at the numbered requirements that spanned three pages. The pages had been pinned to the corkboard above the table saw.

"It's for real," said Jeremy. Bitty liked Jeremy – unlike the rest of the staff who yelled at Bitty to go away, Jeremy had no qualms about letting Bitty poke his nose in corners as long as he didn't touch anything.

"Y'all," said Bitty after turning the camera on himself once again, "look at this. These are the requirements from the other people on the Falcs." Bitty pointed at a single sheet of paper with a handful of written notes, mostly measurements and colors. Bitty then pointed to Jack's single-spaced numbered lists and zoomed in on page three, which ended at specification 151: "If any equipment is left behind after postseason locker cleanup, do not touch. Contact #1 directly."

Bitty turned the camera back to himself and raised an eyebrow. "This dude is insane," he said.

Jeremy let out a low chuckle, earning another on-camera shot.

"Dude just knows what he likes," said Jeremy with a shrug. "I admire that in the guy."

Bitty whipped the camera back to himself and whispered "insane."

 

* * *

 

The first thing that Bitty noticed when he walked into the the Falconers' dressing room was the smell. While overall the room was kept as neat as possible, it was clear that throughout the season certain traditions and on-the-fly superstitions had overruled cleanliness, and now halfway through, the smell was out of control, more than just sweaty players and their wet gear. Bitty was very familiar with the stench of a dirty dressing room and boys who felt that not washing their jocks was the best way to turn a season around, but the NHL took odor to a whole other level. Bitty resorted to taking shallow breaths through his mouth until he could adjust.

He and Jason were by no means the only reporters in the room. The center of the semicircle was filled with people holding video cameras, voice recorders, cell phones, and notepads. Due to the limited space and time constraints, Bitty was unceremoniously handed a camera by the usual operator Ian, given a short demonstration on how to use it, and then shoved into the dressing room behind Jason. Jason steered him into a spot in front of Jack Zimmermann, who was removing his skates in his stall, and checked the viewfinder to ensure a tight frame on Jack's face.

"Keep it like that," Jason directed, his voice low. "Don't adjust the zoom after we start. Make sure you have his whole face but keep as many of the mics out of the shot as possible. We're going to Marty and then Snowy after him, so keep up and be quick."

The camera was heavy on Bitty's shoulder and he planted both his feet to keep it steady, but he still worried that his nerves would come through and ruin their story. So far media coverage at a Falconers game had been terrifying — Bitty was rushed from the press box to the bench during warm ups, rushed back to the box to take notes as events unfurled, rushed down to the rampway in between periods for quick hits, and finally rushed into the dressing room to get player interviews in the short window allotted for the media once the game completed. He had never paid closer attention to a professional hockey game in his life since Jason insisted he come up with five questions by the end of regulation. Bitty wrote down all five in the notes app on his phone, but Jason never followed through on the ask. At the one minute mark of the third period, Bitty tailed Jason down to the basement.

Jason stood on Bitty's right side, holding out a microphone with the NBC 10 logo on it, but someone on Bitty's left got the first question. "Jack," he said, and Jack looked up, locking gaze with Bitty immediately. His eyes were so intensely blue Bitty felt like he was surrounded by the color, like he was peering into depths further than just four feet. Jack's black eyebrows furrowed at Bitty's presence, his prominent jaw set into a hard line. "Tough loss today. How do you look forward after getting shut out at home?"

Jack stared at Bitty before he nodded over to Jason. "Jace, this your kid?"

Bitty frowned.

"I'm not that old, Jack," said Jason with a fake laugh. "This is Eric. New intern."

Jack stared directly into Bitty's eyes again, just for a moment, before he looked back at the person standing to Bitty's left.

"We still had a good December," said Jack, as if nothing had happened after the question was asked, "and the team has momentum. This isn't going to set us back. We've got Philly tomorrow and we know them well. We just need to look forward."

Bitty cracked a smile and Jack glanced at him. Bitty quickly bit his lip, careful not to jostle the shot. On his other side, Jason spoke up: "How about defense? Are you adjusting your strategy knowing that they've let by six goals in two games?"

"Yeah, for sure. It's a work in progress," said Jack, and he idly scratched at the growth of hair in his cheek. Bitty's eyes followed his neatly manicured nails as they ran over the stubble on his face, just below the shadow of his cheekbones. Bitty blinked and looked back to Jack's eyes through the lens of his camera. "They're working hard. Maybe we're going D-to-D too much, but we've got a good bunch this year."

Bitty wondered how often Jack said that. Jack dropped his hand, drawing Bitty's gaze, but when Bitty forced himself to look back at Jack's face, Jack was looking back with a frown.

There were only a few more questions with Jack before they had to move on; as Bitty walked away to set up in front of Tater, Jack called out to Jason, "Jace, come here a sec." Jason gestured for Bitty to move on. Bitty adjusted the camera on his shoulder before he framed Tater into place, and glanced back over at Jack, who looked to be heatedly saying something in a whisper to Jason. Jason looked directly at Bitty, and Bitty went cold all over.

Jason didn't bring it up until they were in the van on the way back to the station.

"Jack doesn't like surprises," said Jason. "It took a long time for him to warm up to me, and honestly I can't even tell you for sure that he has. We're putting a mic on Snowy tomorrow, so I'll keep you close to him while Ian and I handle Jack."

Bitty frowned but agreed. When they arrived at the station, Jason disappeared and Bitty sat next to Sandy in the editing room, where they put together clips until two o'clock in the morning.

 

***

 

The first two weeks of Bitty's internship went very well. He and Sandy edited every clip for every newscast, including those that fed from the NBC national field reporter when Jason traveled to away games. The highlight of life at a news station was definitely that Bitty was allowed to take the camera and his work computer home and edit there if he wanted. Every time he looked at the camera he was tempted to film a vlog on it, but he instead brought his vlog camera with him to the station to update his viewers on his new job.

"Do you think it's okay if I take my camera to the arena and film?" Bitty asked the day of his third home game. Jason shrugged his shoulders and said, "Sure." Bitty finished his features as quickly as possible so he could run home and edit his vlog footage, excited to show off the arena, the press box, and everything he'd been exposed to at the home of the Providence Falconers. Bitty posted the vlog at three o'clock in the morning, and when he woke up six hours later, it already had a quarter of a million hits. While far from his most watched vlog (that was the tutorial on pie crust from high school that somehow hit fifteen million views), the timespan of the hits put it on the trajectory to be one of Bitty's most popular videos.

Bitty arrived at the station, his camera in tow, at ten-thirty. When he entered through the front doors, the receptionist stood. "Eric," she said. Bitty looked at her. "Michael asked to see you when you came in."

Bitty dropped his camera off in his cube. Jason wasn't at his desk yet. A thick weight of impending doom lodged itself in his chest as he deposited the rest of his belongings and headed toward Michael's office, which was located in the northwest corner of the second floor. While Bitty had been employed for two weeks, he'd only seen Michael in passing. The encounters were usually positive — at one point Michael informed Bitty that Sandy had complimented his dedication to the work — but Bitty felt like he didn't know his boss at all.

Bitty peered through the thin glass window next to the door to Michael's office and knocked. Jason sat in front of the desk. Michael wore a scowl that accentuated the wrinkles along the lower half of his mouth underneath his mustache. Michael waved him inside. Bitty opened the door with a shaky hand. 

"You wanted to see me?" he asked.

"Yeah, Eric. Sit. Close the door."

Michael gestured to the empty chair next to Jason. Jason did not look over but instead sat low with his head propped up by a clenched fist. Bitty shut the door behind him and sat on the edge of the chair, both of his hands in his lap to hopefully hide their tremors. Michael sighed and put his chin in his hand; from the dark circles under his eyes and the redness in his eyes, it seemed he hadn't slept in weeks, but for Michael, that wasn't unusual.

"Did you even read the factbook they gave you at orientation?" Michael asked.

Bitty's eyes widened and he looked at Jason, who did not look back.

"Um…" said Bitty, because he knew he received something that had the word "factbook" written on it, but didn't remember ever opening it. Michael looked at Jason.

"Did you not go through the factbook with him?" Michael asked. Jason didn't answer. "I hired him for you, Jason. He is your responsibility. You are responsible for supervising him here, at the arena, and in at his fucking house if that's what it takes."

"I'm sorry, what is this about?" Bitty asked.

"It's about the video that you posted at three o'clock this morning, Eric, and the fact that you filmed and posted unapproved content of the Falconers' practice, dressing room, and equipment specifications," said Michael.

"I asked Jason if I could film for my blog—"

"Whoa, whoa, kid, you said nothing about a blog," interrupted Jason, and Bitty shut his mouth quickly. "You did not tell me anything about filming the arena so you could post unapproved shit on the internet."

"He's a fucking blogger, Jason, what did you think he was asking you?" Michael asked. Michael sat back in his chair and ran his hand over his face and his thinning hair before he looked back at Bitty. "Peter said I should fire you right now."

Bitty's heart sank in his chest and he could feel tears springing into his eyes. He should have read the factbook. He should have read every single piece of paper they put in front of him, but he was so worried about Jason's player quiz that he forgot all about what happened at orientation. This was worse than just getting fired — this internship was replacing an entire semester's worth of grades, and getting fired after two weeks meant he'd never be able to graduate.

"However," continued Michael, "I just got off the phone with Savannah Chase. The Falconers' Director of Communications. They thought it was hilarious. The Falcs' official Twitter account just posted a link to it. It's over a million hits already and it's not even twelve hours old. Savannah specifically requested that you take over for Jason on all coverage going forward."

Bitty blinked; his tears evaporated in his eyes but his heart wouldn't quit hammering in his chest.

"I'm sorry, what?" Bitty asked.

"They liked your video, kid," said Michael, "and you just got really fucking lucky. If you showed up before she called, you would have been escorted out of the building and asked never to return, but I can't say no to their Director of Communications, so here we are. Congratulations, you're a field reporter." Bitty looked at Jason, who was determinedly not looking back at him.

"Um, thank you?" Bitty asked. "I think?"

"You're damn right you should be thanking me," said Michael.

"So what is Jason going to do now?" Bitty asked, glancing at Jason again. Jason was growing redder by the minute.

"You're not allowed to travel based on the contract we agreed upon with Samwell," said Michael. "So Jason will stay on as our official point of contact and traveling correspondent, but when it comes to home games and practices, you and Ian will handle the onsite interviews. Sandy will continue to edit footage when you're not able to — and only when you're not able to. Don't pull this bullshit about not wanting to edit your own damn footage."

"I'm right here, boss," said Jason.

"I'm well aware of where you are, Jason, and the only reason you still have a job is because this kid is an intern," said Michael, rounding sharply on Jason. "You better start looking because as soon as I find someone to replace you, you are gone. You said you were so busy you needed help but you took no time to train him and just cost this station a fuckton of money in NHL fines. I don't have time for incompetence and laziness." Michael looked back at Bitty. "You and Jason are in the planning meeting at noon. Get me footage on time, get me interesting stories, and make Jack Zimmermann look like a fucking knight in shining armor. And read your damn factbook."

Michael waved them out of the office. Bitty rose to his feet, unaware that his body was moving, and followed Jason into the hallway. Once out of earshot from Michael's office, Bitty returned to his senses and caught up to Jason.

"Jason —"

Jason rounded on him.

"Don't fucking talk to me, kid. I want nothing to do with you."

Back at their cube, Jason grabbed his bag and left without another word. Bitty sat at his desk and stared at the player sheets he'd pinned to the walls. He took a deep breath and then, all at once, burst into tears.

There was no time for crying, however, once the day started. There was a game that evening against Ottawa that Bitty needed to take point on. Jason clearly wasn't attending, and although Bitty had shadowed him during every interim home game and practice, Bitty was clueless on protocol when it came to requesting interviews; he knew he was allowed to bring a camera and a microphone into the dressing room after morning practice and after the game ended, but beyond that, he had no idea how to request quick hit interviews between periods or when he was allowed to put a mic on a player.

After the noon meeting, Bitty found Ian and they piled their equipment into the media van that Jason used to drive. Bitty sat in the front seat and Ian took the wheel. "I've got you, kid," Ian said. "You just tell me where to point the camera and I'll get you what you need. You should talk to Savannah when we get there. She'll be able to explain what you need to do."

"Is she going to let me talk to her?" Bitty asked.

"Mike says she likes you. We'll go to her office first. You should thank her for what she said. Probably don't tell her you were almost fired," said Ian with a shrug.

"How did you know I was almost fired?" Bitty asked.

"It's a news station. It's our job to know everything," said Ian. "For what it's worth, I like you more than Jason. It's probably because you don't know what the hell you're doing."

"Thanks," said Bitty.

They arrived at the arena and Ian led Bitty to the corporate offices at the box level. Bitty recognized several names on the outside of doors from his research, including the GM, the assistant GMs, the directors for scouting, and other operations managers. Ian stopped in front of Savannah Chase's office and knocked politely on the open door. She looked over and broke into a bright smile.

"Eric!" she said before she beckoned the two of them inside and stood to shake their hands. Savannah had a firm handshake but a sweet smile. She was blonde with too much forehead and was dressed in a navy business suit with a necklace that reflected the natural light that came in her window. She did not look terrifying, but Bitty was immediately intimidated by what she represented. After Bitty shook her hand, he sat down in front of her desk. "What can I do for you?" she asked.

"I just wanted to thank you," said Bitty, and after the words left his mouth he realized he was not carrying any sort of baked good and thus this was the worst attempt at being grateful he had ever made. "I have to apologize; my gratitude is usually accompanied by pie, but I was already in the office when I heard you'd called Michael and said that you wanted me to take over for Jason as the field correspondent from NBC 10."

"Eric," said Savannah with a wave of her hand, "it was nothing. That blog you posted this morning was hilarious. The entire team loved it. Well, most of the team loved it." Bitty bit his lip and knew exactly who she left out. "Jason and I have never gotten along. The first time we met I was working a charity event with the team. He thought I was a fan and tried to hit on me. I'm sure you're lovely, but I would jump on literally any opportunity to get him out of my arena."

"Unfortunately I'm just an intern," explained Bitty, "so he's still going to be the main correspondent for away games."

Savannah continued to smile. "We'll see," she said. She leaned forward and her rate of speech increased dramatically. "I know you're an intern and I know you've only been with us a few weeks. I'm more than happy to get you acclimated to the team. If you have any specific filming requests, those need to be in to me no later than three hours prior to a game or one hour before practice, and post interview requests need to be in no later than two minutes before the end of the game. I only have you down for standing post-practice and post-game interviews with Jack; the rest you need to request. Quick hits have to be in to me no later than five minutes before the end of the period, but know this — you are not high on the totem pole, Eric. The national rightsholders, especially your own affiliate, trump you every step of the way.  I'll give you viewing access to the mic request calendar. Jason has a few on there already that I'll transfer over to you, but if you find space or can negotiate requests with the other outlets my assistant can update it for you. Did you get all that?"

Bitty had several typos on the notes app on his phone, but looked up at Savannah and nodded.

"Good. Thanks for dropping by. I'll be here until pregame and then I'll be in my box if you need me. Ian knows where to find me." Savannah nodded to Ian.

"Thank you, Savannah," said Ian, who grabbed Bitty by the arm and pulled him out of the office. Bitty followed him to the press box and then proceeded to sit silently in his chair, unsure of what to do next. Ian dragged him frequently to different parts of the arena for additional shots, but Bitty had no plan for special interview requests. He just wanted the national broadcast highlight reel and a decent sound bite from Jack. Everything was going fine (although Ian was doing most of the work) until they headed to the dressing room at the end of the game for Jack's interview, and Bitty realized for the first time that he should ask a question.

"Crap," Bitty whispered. He had just watched an entire game, a game where Jack scored no points and the team lost in the last minute of regulation, and realized he had absolutely nothing to say. How was he supposed to ask an insightful question when the Falconers' only goal was from an error that bounced off a Senators' stick? Snowy was the only reason the team lost by one. Bitty realized too late that he should have requested a post with Snowy in addition to Jack, but the cutoff for interview requests had already passed.

Ian set up in front of Jack first, since his position was the most important, and Bitty filled in tightly between the national NBC reporter and Root Sports. Jack removed his skates and placed a sweaty blue Falconers hat onto his head before he nodded. Ian glanced at Bitty but Vanessa from NBC national got the first question:

"Jack, the team's been teetering around five hundred since the loss against the Aces broke your winning streak." Bitty noticed the subtle twitch in Jack's eye when Vanessa mentioned the Aces. "How do you get out of the rut and get back to winning again?"

Jack rubbed at the side of his neck and glanced at the huddle of people around him. His eyes settled on Bitty and he paused, confused, before he answered, his eyes flickering frequently back in Bitty's direction. Bitty willed himself not to go red; he and Jack were only three feet from each other. Bitty could see the sweat as it beaded in Jack's sideburn and trickled down his jawline. Bitty adjusted the microphone in his hand and tried to focus on Jack's response.

"It just takes dedication. I think we got a big head about December. There's still a lot more hockey to play this year, and now we've got to be thinking about the end of the road."

"How do you plan for the end of the road when there are still thirty-eight games left in the season?" Bitty asked, surprising both himself and Jack. Jack connected eyes with him again and Bitty waited, reminding himself mentally to keep breathing. It was two breaths before Jack cracked a small smile, much to Bitty's surprise.

"Thirty-seven now," Jack said, the corner of his lip tugged upward. It changed the entire dynamic of his face; his cheekbones popped, the light returned to his eyes, and Bitty could see his laugh lines for the first time ever. He looked relaxed. He looked human.

Someone else began to ask a question and Jack turned to them just momentarily to hold up a finger.

"Wait," Jack said. He looked directly at Bitty, who could no longer fight his blush. "You have to plan for every game and you have to plan for the season. You need to be able to see both. We're ahead now but that momentum doesn't last, so you need to know where your end goal is and how you're going to get there under every circumstance. How do we keep ourselves at the top of the division if every other team wins? How many can we afford to lose? If we can't secure one of the top three spots in the Metro division, how do we win the wild card? There are strategies in place but they're only strategies if you can't execute. We've seen time and time again that our passing game needs work. We need to keep and defend when we're in possession. We need to make turnovers. We know that. We've known that for years. How do we actually do it, though? That's what I'm bringing to practice every day, that's what I'm talking about in between periods. I'm bringing up specifics. I'm owning up to my mistakes. I'm working on them every shift. And each of those sixty minutes in each of those thirty-seven games count. I'm planning for all two thousand two hundred and twenty of them."

"Did you just do that math in your head?" Bitty asked.

Jack smiled so widely his eyes crinkled; Bitty wondered how many of his perfectly straight white teeth were real. Several camera shutters clicked.

"I'm not just a hockey player," said Jack. "And I'm more than my superstitions."

Bitty could feel his blood turn cold. When someone else began to ask questions, Jack's gaze lingered on Bitty. Bitty reminded himself again to breathe.

 

***

 

Bitty returned home late that evening with his work computer and Ian's camera in tow. He needed to finish his reel and it made no sense to try to get it all done at the station; he'd probably never get to sleep if he stayed there. Jack had never been so dynamic in an interview before and it would take hours to piece together just forty seconds of footage. There was enough for multiple cuts, and Bitty wanted to provide several angles for the primetime and evening news segments.

First, however, he needed to vent. It had been an extraordinarily long day and while Ian was polite, he was not the type of person who would listen to Bitty complain, especially the same day he'd been promoted. There were a lot of emotions to get out and a couple of spontaneous cries at his cube, in the bathroom, and in his truck on the way home were just not enough.

Bitty dropped the camera off by the door and set his computer down on his desk. He turned on a heel and headed into Lardo's room only to find it empty. The bathroom was also empty, and the door to Chowder's room on the opposite side was closed. Bitty looked at the desk and had his answer; her cup of paintbrushes was missing.

Bitty trotted down two sets of stairs and found Lardo in the basement, mixing paint and bobbing her head to the music playing through the speakers of the docking station against the wall. A rectangular canvas sat horizontally on her easel in front of her with just the base of a blue and yellow sky covering the top third of it. It reminded Bitty of the color of twilight back home in Georgia. Bitty sat down on the chair next to her easel, causing her to look up.

"Oh, hey Bits," she said. "When did you get back?"

"Just now," said Bitty. "Lord, have I got a story for you. It's been — fuck, Lardo, it's been such a crazy day." Bitty wiped at his eyes; he'd been crying all day and didn't want to start again, but he knew he wouldn't make it through a whole conversation without tears.

"Watch," said Lardo quietly. She aimed a remote at the docking station to pause the music before she squirted brown paint onto her palette next to her dollops of blue and yellow.

"What color will it be?" Bitty asked.

"You'll find out," said Lardo. She picked up her silver palette knife and slowly began to mix the colors together, first brown and yellow. Bitty watched in silence, no sound in the quiet Haus apart from the tapping of Lardo's knife against the acrylic board. It was oddly comforting, a feeling that Bitty couldn't quite explain, but the combination of sound and color caused everything to drain away — the embarrassment that he'd felt upon breaking a major rule at work, his fear of being fired, his exponential increase in stress after getting promoted, his uselessness upon realizing he didn't know what he was doing, and his confusion from Jack's reaction to his interview question. None of those things existed any longer; it was just Lardo and her paint.

Incorporating the blue caused the paint to turn into a deep forest green, and when Lardo finished, she had the perfect color to begin the vegetation on her landscape. She set her palette aside, however, and gave Bitty her attention.

"Better?" she asked. Bitty nodded. "Do you still want to talk about it?"

Bitty sighed; he wanted his peace to last a little bit longer.

"Just wanted to tell you I got promoted," said Bitty, and Lardo nodded, as if she could sense that Bitty wasn't necessarily proud of this. "No more Jason at home games. I get to ask the questions now."

"'Swawesome," said Lardo. "Probably means more responsibility though, huh?"

"Yeah," said Bitty. "Today went well. I got a good sound bite from Jack."

"Were you afraid you wouldn't?"

"Yes," said Bitty. "He didn't seem happy to see me the first time I shadowed Jason in dressing room interviews. I'm still not sure if he's happy to see me."

"Well now you get to earn his trust," said Lardo. "That's a good thing. I'm glad you get to do something for real now. See what it would be really like if you took a job like this. Did you want to go into sports broadcasting?"

"Maybe," said Bitty with a shrug. "If I can't get my own cooking show. Doesn't hurt to have a backup."

"True," said Lardo. "You look beat, bro. You should go to bed."

"I should go to bed?" Bitty asked with an eyebrow up. "You're the one just starting a new painting."

"I can always come back to this. This one's just for fun," said Lardo. Her eyes raked over the colors already on her canvas. Bitty wondered what it looked like through her eyes, if she could see the completed project already or if she still had to lay the foundation before she could see the end of it. He didn't realize he'd been staring until Lardo looked back at him, smiling gently. Her thick black eyeliner was starting to smudge at the ends. "Go to bed, Bits. You're dead on your feet."

"All right. 'Night Lardo."

"'Night Bits. Don't work so hard. It's just an internship."

Bitty wanted to take her advice, but he was already planning to tackle the editing when he got back to his room. He headed up the stairs and noticed a light coming from his end of the hallway. Lardo's light hadn't been on and he hadn't turned on his either. Chowder was already asleep. That just left —

"Ransom. Holster. What are you doing?"

Ransom and Holster froze in the middle of Bitty's room. The camera case was open and Holster had the camera on his shoulder already. Ransom had hold of Bitty's microphone, branded with the NBC peacock. Each smiled sheepishly and Ransom quickly placed the microphone back into the case.

"Bitty!" said Ransom. He stood and hid Holster from view, but Bitty already had his hands on both hips and his best look of judgment on his face. "Bits. Bro. You have got a 'swawesome camera here. Top notch."

"That is the station's camera. To be used for official NBC 10 business only. I'm already on thin ice as it is, Ransom. I don't want to explain why two idiots are filming Hockey Shits on WJAR equipment."

"Bro!" said Holster, who had replaced the camera back in its case behind Ransom's legs, as if Bitty couldn't see him do it. "You insult us! We're just admiring quality apparatuses when we see them. We would never film Hockey Shits on official news station devices without express written consent from someone who worked there. Like you, maybe."

"Maybe?" said Bitty. "How about no? No Hockey Shits on NBC 10 cameras."

"How about one Hockey Shit on NBC 10 cameras?" negotiated Holster.

"No."

"Bits. Bro. Our favorite teammate and the most likely candidate to replace us as captain," said Ransom, throwing his arm around Bitty's shoulders. "Holster and I are graduating in just a mere four months. We have a legacy to leave. What is more fitting than to film our final lessons on a camera of utmost quality?"

Bitty looked between the two of them. Holster nodded enthusiastically and Ransom smiled with too many teeth. They both looked ridiculous but that was how they usually looked when they were together. As far as Bitty knew, Ransom still planned to apply to medical schools and Holster was looking for consulting jobs in Boston. Bitty had never seen them apart, not for more than a few hours, and he wondered what would happen if Ransom ended up in medical school all the way across the country.

"No," said Bitty firmly. "No! You can't use it and you can't graduate either. I forbid both of them!"

"Bitty," said Holster. He stood and placed a hand on the shoulder Ransom did not occupy. "We'll give you time to think it over. I'll leave you with this. Don't you want us to leave the SMH with lessons that will last a lifetime? I think you do. I think you understand the importance of this. We'll be in the attic when you change your mind."

Ransom and Holster left the room. Bitty quickly closed the door behind them; whatever calm Lardo had provided in the basement was gone. The thought of Ransom and Holster no longer just a flight of stairs away was entirely too much to bear. He ignored his work computer and his camera and crawled into bed. He gripped Senor Bunny to his chest and closed his eyes without even turning off his light. It had been a shit day.


	4. Chapter 4

"It's been a long time since I lived in Madison," said Bitty. "Or, at least, it feels like it's been a long time. I was just there a few weeks ago for Christmas break, but it's reached that weird point where it doesn't feel right anymore. My mama stopped asking me to set the table and take out the garbage. She just did it when it needed to be done. Coach put a box of football equipment in my room because he didn't have anywhere else to put it. We're all growing accustomed to life without me there and I… I don't like it.

"Y'all know that I was itching to get out of Georgia and live my life in the great up north, and y'all made fun of me that first winter when I didn't know how to layer and didn't own a hat. I still don't know how to layer but I own TWO hats now and they are both very warm. And, even better, I have driven my car while it was snowing out and I am still here to tell you about it. Y'all, I'm basically a northerner."

Bitty kept his best smile on his lips for as long as he could, but he didn't feel it and it quickly slid off his face. He sighed. "I miss home, though, especially this time of year when the days are so short and the wind is so cold. I only miss the things I liked, though. I miss dirt roads in the middle of nowhere. I miss walking outside and feeling comfortable. I miss the clouds —  _ Lord _ , do I miss the clouds — and I miss my house and my bed. But more than anything I miss my mama."

There was a case of Georgia peaches on the counter in front of the camera and Bitty looked at them. He picked one up and held it in scope. "And these! These just came overnight from home. They're not the good ones. We don't get good ones until summer, but I still remember these from growing up. My mama and I would make everything peach after the first festival of the season. We'd stock up and that house smelled like peaches for  _ weeks _ . Peach marmalade, peach salsa, peach syrup, peach cobbler… everything. But when I think of home, I think of one thing in particular: standing in my kitchen with my mama making her blue ribbon peach pie. And that's what you and I are going to make today!"

Bitty set his computer down in front of the camera.

"I can't possibly make my mama's world famous peach pie without my mama, so we have a special guest on today's blog! Say hi, Mama!"

Suzanne waved from the computer screen.

"Hi y'all!" she said. "You know I love it when I get to guest star on Dicky's special vlog."

"Mama," said Bitty with a frown. "How do you immediately embarrass me?"

"It's my favorite pastime, honey," she said.

"Lord, well we might as well get started before you share awful childhood stories that I'll have to edit out," said Bitty. "Mama, you ready?"

"I'm ready! Let's make this pie!"

Bitty turned to the counter.

 

* * *

 

The Falconers traveled for the next three games, leaving Bitty behind at the station to edit Jason's footage and pre-recorded segments. Jason had a lot more to say about these edits than he did in the past, presumably in a last-ditch effort to save his career.

"Don't focus on Jack all the time," Jason said through the phone while Bitty sat in the editing room next to Sandy. Both of them were skimming through the game highlight reel and the raw footage of Jason's post-game interviews from Ian's camera. Sandy was not paying much attention to it, however, flipping through footage of the Patriots, who had made it to the playoffs again. After the Super Bowl and a week or so of post-season recap, hockey would take the main focus again until the Red Sox began Spring Training. Bitty's intern contract was exclusive to media coverage for the Falconers, and as Bitty caught a glimpse of Sandy reviewing a talking head with Tom Brady in it, he was very thankful for that.

Jason had sent through three post-game interviews with the highlight reels. One with Jack, per usual, one with Snowy addressing the questions Bitty should have asked after the most recent home game, and a final interview with the rookie Fitzgerald, who'd had three points that night.

"Try to get Poots in there as much as possible. He rocked it tonight. People need to see more than just the same four or five guys over and over," Jason said again. "Just don't fucking call him Poots in the banner, okay? Don't screw me over here."

"I wouldn't do that, Jason," said Bitty, more annoyed than offended.

"Sure," said Jason with a grunt. "You only saunter in here like you own the place just because some people think your stupid food blog is good. You take my job and somehow get Jack to actually make an expression and suddenly Savannah's popping by every ten minutes asking where you are."

"I told Savannah I can't travel," said Bitty.

"Well if she had her way you could," said Jason. "Don't make me look like an ass, okay kid? Some of us aren't temporary."

Jason hung up the phone and Bitty swallowed his reply — Jason was probably temporary and his saltiness was unnecessary. Furthermore, his footage was awful. The post-games were salvageable due to the questions from other reporters, but Jack ignored Jason's questions and gave short, generic answers despite the team's victory over the Rangers. There was at least forty seconds worth of material from Snowy, who had some good sound bites about improving his glove and working to increase his save percentage in the second half of the season. Bitty would have gone with that, but Jason didn't even mention Snowy in his choppy segment introduction, focusing on Poots instead. Poots was not a good interviewee. He was even worse than Jack; Jack at least had been trained on how to handle media questions and gave content that sounded good even though it was vague and noncommittal. Poots didn't look at any cameras, had a thousand yard stare,  and averaged three filler words per sentence.

Bitty sighed heavily, earning the attention of Sandy. "He give you shit?" Sandy asked, an eyebrow raised. Bitty nodded. "Now you understand what I've been dealing with for two seasons." Sandy paused and looked Bitty over; since Bitty knew he wasn't going to the arena with the team on the road the rest of the week, he didn't bother dressing to impress. It was getting colder every day, so he wore his Samwell hoodie and jeans over compression tights. "You got a blazer with you?"

"No," said Bitty. He eyed Sandy warily, but Sandy was grinning. "Why are you asking if I brought a blazer?"

"You should keep one at your desk. I can give you my shirt and tie — it'll be too big but if we find a jacket that fits, we can pin it right."

"What are you planning, Sandy?" Bitty asked.

Sandy didn't reply. He ran out of the room and five minutes later returned in his undershirt, carrying a sport coat along with the rest of what he had been wearing. "Come on. Let's pop to the media room. There's a good place I can stick you. Put this on."

Sandy's dress shirt was much too big, but Sandy pulled it tight behind Bitty's back and secured it with binder clips, and then gave Bitty a jacket he had unearthed from an unknown place, which fit decently. Bitty futzed with his hair and then stood in front of a Falconers' banner and a portable mural with key players in intense on-ice poses. Sandy set up the camera and nodded to Bitty.

"Okay," said Sandy. "If this were your piece, what would you say?"

"I don't know," said Bitty, shaking his head. "Jason specifically told me not to screw him over."

"If you wanted to screw him over, you'd put together a segment with his bullshit intro. Do what makes sense with the footage he gave you." Bitty sighed and looked into the camera; he hadn't actually been on air yet, so this was terrifying. The station camera was much, much larger than his Canon EOS, and it had been a long time since he had something like this following him around.

"We can edit it when you're done, Bitty. Just give the intro you want. Ten seconds at most."

Bitty nodded, took a breath, and looked into the camera lens.

"The Falconers are still trudging through January, trying to find the momentum that closed out 2015 with a perfect December. Having lost the last two on the road, their win against the New York Rangers has set them up for success as they travel to Nashville on Friday. All eyes have been on goalie Dustin Snow, who put up his third shut out of the season."

Bitty held his media face for four seconds, and then looked at Sandy.

"Perfect. You're a natural, kid," Sandy said. "Now you just need your closing and you're good to go," said Sandy.

"How do I do that?" Bitty asked.

"You know how it goes. Close it up in a sentence and then sign off. Something like 'With a strong goalie performance, we'll see how the team does against the Predators on Friday. Sandy Callahan, NBC 10.'" Bitty repeated it, and Sandy nodded. "Yep, now do it for real."

Bitty took in a deep breath, set his media face, and began.

"With a strong performance in goal, we'll see if the rest of the team keeps up. The Falconers face off against Nashville on Friday. Eric Bittle, NBC 10."

 

***

 

Despite both Bitty and Snowy's optimism about the win in New York changing momentum, the Falconers lost to Nashville on Friday and returned to Providence for a Monday matchup against New Jersey. There were no repercussions from Jason when Bitty's introduction aired instead of his, but there also had been no contact from Jason at all since the segments aired. Peter Del Rio complimented Bitty in the hallway on Monday, giving Bitty an unexpected confidence boost.

On the way to the arena, Bitty received multiple texts from his mother:

**Mama**  
     I just saw your feature online!  
  
**Mama**  
     You looked so professional  
  
**Mama**  
     I haven't seen you on TV since your state fair tour

He looked at his phone and frowned. He and Ian were due to arrive at the arena earlier than necessary, so after Ian went inside to set up, Bitty lingered in the van and called his mother back. It was immediately soothing to hear her voice. "Honey! You didn't tell me you were going to be on TV!"

"It was sort of a last minute thing," said Bitty, "and I've been kind of busy since. Was I good?"

"You were wonderful, sweetie," said Suzanne.

Bitty closed his eyes. The heat from the van was dissipating and the cold began to settle in. It had been warm at home and Suzanne's voice just reminded Bitty of how that had felt.

"Are you okay?" Suzanne asked.

"Yeah! Yeah, just a little tired. Can you just talk to me for a bit before I have to go inside?"

"Of course, honey. You know the good peaches don't come out until summer but your daddy went to the store yesterday and...well...you know I love your daddy, but sometimes his decisions are questionable. He came home with an entire case of 'em. Said they were on sale. Of course they were on sale! It's February. I'm going to have to send some up to you. I can turn a good amount of them into jam but, Lord, not all of them!"

"I will gladly take peaches from home. Maybe you and I can make a pie together? I feel like it's been forever since I had a chance to bake."

"I'll get these shipped out to you and then absolutely we can make a pie together," said Suzanne.

"Sounds like a plan." Bitty looked at the time and sighed. "I have to go inside. I'll call you later, Mama."

"Okay honey. Don't work too hard."

Bitty had no intention of listening to her. He learned his lesson from the last home game; he requested post-practice interviews with both Jack and Snowy and brought a notepad for observations, along with a handwritten list of Savannah's deadlines in case he needed to request quick hits or additional post-games. Bitty left his notebook and his computer in the press box and headed down to the dressing room with Ian after practice to get a few quips to air for that evening's broadcast. There wasn't room for much, since most of the sports recaps would be about the Patriots' playoff loss to the Broncos, but he hoped for something interesting from at least one of them.

Jack seemed to be in high spirits when Bitty stuck a microphone in front of his face. Jack had just put on his typical interview hat; now halfway through the season, the hat looked desperate for a wash. "We're off to Detroit in a few days, yes, but then we're at home for almost all of February. We're always better at home. It's different when you can sleep in your own bed in your own house. That comfort provides something you can't replicate on the road, no matter what or who you bring with you."

Bitty almost frowned, wondering who Jack was bringing on the road with him when all reports and inter-media rumors pointed to him being extremely single, when Bitty remembered Jack's Instagram post that morning of his dog Wayne rolling in snow.

"And how much does Wayne get to come with you on the road?" Bitty asked. Jack looked at him and smiled a pure, toothy grin.

"Not often. If we're away for a long time I'll bring him with, but he's a homebody. Likes moseying around and sitting in the sun. Not so much a fan of airplanes and hotel rooms."

Bitty would have to edit the comment out, since he had less than thirty seconds on each program that evening, but it was still nice to hear Jack talk about something real. Jack smiled again at Bitty before he turned his head for another question. Bitty stared at Jack's profile while he listened, at Jack's sharp cheekbones and jawline. He was clean-shaven, which only made the angles that much more distinct, but Bitty's gaze continually drifted upward to Jack's pale blue eyes. In all of Jack's on-ice footage his pupils were tiny pinpricks in the circle of blue, but there in the dressing room they were dilated, relaxed.

After Jack answered his final question, Ian headed right over to Snowy to set up again, but Jack nodded at Bitty to hold him back. "Hey," Jack said, once everyone else had moved on, "you weren't on the road."

"No," said Bitty, shaking his head. "I'm just an intern. I can't travel."

"Just an intern, huh?" Jack asked, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know many interns who get to ask questions."

Bitty shrugged his shoulders. "I think I'm just a lucky one," he said.

"What's your name again?" Jack asked.

"Bitty — uh, um, sorry. Eric."

"Which is it? Eric or Bitty?" Jack asked, and Bitty could hear the sass in his tone. He'd heard it in passing over the past few weeks in the dressing room, players passing each other and doling out chirps the same way Bitty and his teammates did.

"My teammates back at Samwell call me Bitty. Here I'm just Eric. Eric Bittle."

"Samwell?" Jack asked, his eyebrows raising his and into the flops of hair that curtained his forehead from underneath his cap.

"Eric," called Ian, and Bitty panicked.

"Sorry, Jack," said Bitty. "I've got to get a quote from Snowy for broadcast tonight."

Bitty hurried over to the group in front of Snowy and forced his arm in between Luis from FOX and Vanessa from NBC National, who did not seem the least bit fazed that Bitty was shoving an extremity between their bodies. Bitty glanced back at Jack, who continued to look at him. Bitty smiled awkwardly and the grin returned to Jack's lips.

 

***

 

Going into the third period, it seemed the Falconers would not win their first home game in two weeks. They were only down by two, but the two goals had been scored very early on and the team went the final ten minutes of the second period without a shot on goal. If that continued, it was over and they'd have to move on, but Bitty was optimistic that they could still get something going. Bitty observed but didn't conduct Jack's quick hit before the second intermission, and Jack seemed positive as well. Once the third period started, however, the Devils scored on Snowy on their very first shot, and Bitty grumbled while he scribbled a note. Snowy was not the problem here; the center on the Devils passed right by everyone during a shift change and approached Snowy without any defenders.

"Eric, do you have a minute?"

Bitty looked up from his notebook where he had just underlined  _ WTF defense? _ and peered over his shoulder. Savannah Chase stood at the entrance to the press box. Bitty immediately stood.

"Yes, of course," Bitty said. He took his notebook with him as he followed Savannah down the hallway toward her office.

"These boys, I swear," said Savannah, gesturing in the general direction of the ice. "It's like they're allergic to winning in 2016. People are starting to freak and honestly, after the January we've had? So am I."

"Well they're just about to hit a long home stretch. That's got to do something for their morale."

"I sure fricken hope so, because if they don't make it to the playoffs this year, I have got to fix our PR campaign to get more butts in these seats. We're still a new team but we've lost the excitement that comes with being new. We don't have the adults who grew up with the Falcs, people whose fond memories of going to games with their dad leads them to buy season tickets, and we're too close to other teams that do."

"We've got kids now, though," said Bitty. "The kids are swarming the place. People —"

Savannah had entered her office and Bitty stopped short in the doorway. Michael Carmichael sat on one of the chairs opposite her desk, staring at his phone, and next to him sat Peter Del Rio. Both of Bitty's bosses were in the office of the Falconers' Director of Communications, and that was a terrifying sight.

"Sit down with us, Eric," said Michael, gesturing to the third chair in front of Savannah's desk. Bitty sat and Savannah closed the door behind him before she sat as well. Bitty placed his notebook on the desk and hid his shaking hands in his lap.

"Eric," said Savannah before Michael or Peter could speak, "I just got a hold of your post-practice interview with Jack today. I didn't want to do this prematurely, because I wanted to make sure that this wasn't a fluke, but I have been working with that man for six years now and I don't think I have ever seen him smile."

"Oh," said Bitty, and while the stress seeped out of him, his hands continued to shake. "Not even in photo shoots?"

"Not a real smile," clarified Savannah. "Listen. Jack is our star. He's our captain because of his natural leadership and prowess, but let's be honest here: he's not bad to look at. There's a reason he's in all of our campaigns. However the boy is dull as dirt and I'm at my wits end with him. We tried to get him into social media and he just posts about his damn dog every day. It's something — I have to give him credit, it does make him more likable — but he literally only posts photos of his dog. I need something, or more accurately  _ someone _ , who can convince the world that he's a normal human being."

"And you want me to do that?" Bitty asked. The stress that had left when he realized he was not being fired had returned in spades, and he sat on his hands to hide them, since holding them in his lap wasn't doing the trick. "I've spoken to him twice. If that."

"And twice you've made him smile," said Savannah. "That's more than Jason what's-his-face has done in two years." Savannah looked at Peter and Michael. "The Super Bowl is less than two weeks from now. The Patriots are out. Spring Training's not for a month. The Celtics haven't been good in years. February is hockey month and I need something to push my boys to the public and remind people that we've got a team here with a lovable, beautiful captain who is relatable. Eric can make him relatable."

"So what do you want from us?" Peter asked. "Specifically."

"I need Eric," said Savannah, pointing at Bitty. "Let's do a thirty minute feature on Jack. How he's grown, how he feels about the team, what his plans are for the future, and most importantly, who he is. I've got approval from my chain of command. I've got it in front of ESPN and Root Sports. They're willing to run with it if you are."

"Have you talked to NBCSN?" Peter asked.

"I need you for that," said Savannah. "They're your affiliate."

"We can do it," said Peter, and Bitty's eyes widened at how quickly Peter agreed to this, without any regard to how Bitty felt about the situation. "But we have to be rightsholders. We own the footage and we can distribute to the appropriate parties."

"Peter, you know that's not how it works. Any footage of our players are the rights of the NHL and our club. You know that."

"There is no footage without our staff," said Peter, gesturing to Bitty.

"You can fight that battle with the league," said Savannah. "I'm not getting involved."

Michael looked at Bitty, and Bitty could tell from Michael's expression that he looked as queasy as he felt. "Eric?" Michael asked. "You okay with this?"

Bitty desperately wanted to say no, especially since there was no timeline in place, but he still bit his lip and nodded.

"He's an intern, Savannah," said Michael. "This is not something we can agree to right now. We have to talk to the school and set up an addendum."

"Do what you have to do," said Savannah, "but I need an answer end of business tomorrow. We're filming before the boys leave for Detroit."

"That's in three days," said Michael.

"Exactly," said Savannah. "You run a news station. You know our speed. Fix your contract by end of business tomorrow. This needs to happen."

Savannah dismissed the three of them with a wave of her hand. Peter and Michael stood and stepped out immediately, but Bitty dawdled behind.

"Can I get a post with Coach Rainey about defensive shifts?" Bitty asked. Savannah looked at him and Bitty attempted to look charming but his insides were still churning. Savannah, despite her overall pleasant demeanor, didn't look happy.

"After Jack," she said and turned to her computer. Bitty left her office without another word. Peter and Michael were already gone.

 


	5. Chapter 5

"I got my license when I was sixteen," said Bitty from the desk chair in his room. The snowfall had picked up outside, just visible in the light that filtered through the open blinds. Bitty was relieved to make it home before it left him stranded halfway between Providence and Samwell in the middle of the night. "Literally the morning of my sixteenth birthday. I think my parents were counting down the days until I could drive. Between school and hockey practice and my daily requests for more baking supplies, they were ready for me to be able to drive my own ass around town. After I passed my test they took me to the parking lot and there sat this beautiful blue truck that was all mine. It was used — my parents aren't made of money — but it represented a freedom I'd never known before. It was awesome. I loved my truck and I loved flying down country roads with the windows down and Bey cranked up, kicking up dust and seriously violating speeding laws. Not that any of you should do that, ever. Of course." Bitty turned on his most charming smile before he moved on:

"Fast forward almost five years and I still own the truck. I've left it at home since I started at Samwell. The campus and the Stop & Shop are close enough that I don't need a car up here and even if I did, the parking situation is the worst. However, without a car my internship is a two-hour commute by train just to NBC, not factoring in how I was going to get to the arena and practice rink. So this winter break I flew home and drove my truck up, but my poor sweet girl is not doing well. She made the trip here but it's been a roller coaster to say the least, and without the help of a very kind soul from the Providence Falconers, I would have frozen to death in the parking lot of the Dunkin Donuts Center."

Bitty's eyes drifted off, his gaze thirty miles to the south. He stared, recalling how cold he'd been while trying again and again to start the engine, and how warm he'd felt once his savior knocked on his window. He frowned.

"Anyhoo, today's topic is how to put together an emergency car kit. I'm not talking about car flares and blankets here. I mean you should have those. But you should also have food."

Bitty picked up two vacuum sealed pouches from his desk. One held loose trail mix and the other held a few protein bars.

"You can buy trail mix or protein bars pretty much anywhere, but they're all terrible and terrible for you. The good news is that they're both really easy to make and you can get as creative as you want since you're controlling what goes into it. I personally love chocolate chips in my trail mix, but you might be a raisin person. I'm sorry if you are, because chocolate chips are far superior. This one I have here is a mix of four different seeds, three different nuts, chocolate chips, and dried cranberries. And holy crap is it good.

"Protein bars are a little harder, since it involves an oven, but throw some almond butter or peanut butter, oats, dried fruit, and honey together and you've got yourself a snack that's yummy at all times. Next I'll show you exactly how to dry your own fruit, what kind of butter makes a better snack, and how you can sweeten it up."

Bitty returned the bags to his desk and his eyes drifted to his bed. The tactical portion of the emergency car food tutorial would have to wait until he'd slept.

 

* * *

 

At nine o'clock the next morning, Bitty signed an addendum that permitted ad hoc on air activities such as player featurettes. He read all seven paragraphs, despite Michael shoving a pen in his face, and was disappointed to see that the addendum only cleared him to interview Jack.

"No travel?" Bitty asked.

"No travel," said Michael.

Bitty signed the addendum and listened as Michael gave him the worst pep talk of his life: "I don't know what the fuck you're going to ask this guy to make people like him. I don't fucking like him. He's got the personality of drywall and no cute dogs or Instagram filters are going to change that. Good luck to you. If you fuck it up, you're fired."

"Thanks, Michael," said Bitty, and he then proceeded to launch himself into brainstorming questions that would fill thirty minutes. Jack Zimmermann had a lot of history, the kind that translated into feature length sports movies, but Savannah wanted Jack to be likable. Nothing about an overdose at eighteen nor a famous family had made him likable so far, and Bitty wanted Jack in good spirits. Bitty spent the rest of the day in research mode, diving deep into the abyss of the Internet looking for topics, and went home at three o'clock in the morning both slaphappy from exhaustion and apprehensive for the next morning.

They were due at the arena at ten, but since Michael and Peter were also coming, Bitty drove to the station and met them at eight-thirty. Bitty awoke early and felt nauseated from lack of sleep. He forced jam and toast into his mouth and spent twenty minutes staring at his closet for the appropriate outfit. Jack would probably be in practice gear, so he didn't want to overdress, but at the same time no one could confirm if he would be on camera too, so he didn't want to underdress. He settled for a button-down and jacket, then threw a tie into his bag just in case.

It didn't matter what he wore, however, because as soon as he entered the station Michael shook his head. "Nope," he said. "Come with me." Michael grabbed Bitty by the arm and led him to the dressing room with a rack of clothes and a hair stylist wielding a hair dryer like a blowtorch. Michael removed Bitty's jacket before pushing him to the chair, and before Bitty could introduce himself to the hair stylist, she'd already begun to spray his cowlick with a bottle of water.

Twenty minutes later Bitty had on a different white button-down, a black jacket, and a blue tie. It wasn't Falconers blue, Bitty noticed, but it was flattering all the same. The stylist had perfected Bitty's hair that he usually just swept to the side and sometimes put product in to hold in place. She'd used so much product Bitty was certain it'd never move again.

"Come on, let's get down there," said Michael. "Peter's been there since eight."

"Why?" Bitty asked as he hurried to stay in step with Michael, who moved at the pace of an Olympic speed walker.

"He's still trying to negotiate rights. I doubt he's going to win that battle, but we've got to get something out of this. It can't just be a special on an unrelated network using NBC staff just because Savannah wants it to have a wide audience."

Bitty swallowed hard. "How wide?"

"ESPN, Eric. Primetime. Root Sports too. Jack Zimmermann might not be the best hockey player in the sport today, but he's in the top five. Top three, maybe. Hockey doesn't have the audience football and baseball do, but you're interviewing someone at the top of his game."

"And making him look not like a robot," said Bitty. "Right."

They exited the station and Michael opened the door to reveal the nicest car Bitty had ever seen; Michael was the news director for a top network, after all, so Bitty supposed he could afford nice things. Bitty sat down and tried not to use the headrest in fear of messing up his hair. He could already feel the crick in his neck forming from his constant awareness.

"You okay, kid?" Michael asked after he sat behind the wheel. "You want to go over your questions on the way?" Bitty shook his head; he didn't want to think about his questions again until he was in the room with Jack. He had them written down in case he forgot topics, but just thinking about them made him queasy. "Just stay away from the OD. Stay away from his dad unless he brings up his dad. Don't even mention Kent Parson."

"What's the deal with Kent Parson?" Bitty asked.

"Who fucking knows, kid?" Michael said. "Just don't ask."

Kent wasn't on his list of questions, but Bitty made a note in his book about it anyway.

When Bitty entered the interview room at the arena, he wasn't given the opportunity to look around before someone grabbed him and pushed him toward another rack of clothing. "Absolutely not," said a man with a clipboard that Bitty had never seen before. He must have worked with a different network, because after Jason quizzed Bitty on his first day, Bitty memorized the face of every employee on the Falconers' staff. "No blue. Jack is wearing a blue tie."

Bitty looked for Jack, but he wasn't present. The setup was different than Bitty had imagined; he expected a logoed backdrop or player paraphernalia, but instead it had a rustic feel to it. The walls were split horizontally, the bottom half wood paneled, the top within the same color family as Falconers blue but darker. There was a circular wooden table in the center of the room with a chair on either side of it. Bitty immediately didn't like it; he wanted to be face-to-face with Jack, and the size of the table lost the homey feel Bitty was hoping to get out of their conversation.

Ted, the man with the clipboard, sent Bitty to be redressed in a tan jacket and brown tie. It didn't match his black pants at all, but no one seemed to care so it was more than likely he wouldn't be shot below the waist. Once everyone was satisfied with his outfit, he was directed to sit at the table.

"No," said Bitty.

Michael raised his eyebrows and Ted looked enraged.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"We're not doing this at the table," said Bitty. "The point of this entire feature is to make Jack Zimmermann a likable person. I can't do that sitting eight feet away with an oak tree between us. Do we have another location?"

"We do not have another location. This is the location," said Ted.

Bitty looked around the room; it was fairly large and dominated mostly by the table. "Then move the table," said Bitty. "Jack and I will sit on an angle over here." Bitty picked up his chair and sat it down next to the table instead and then repositioned Jack's chair just three feet in front of his. When Bitty sat down, it seemed an acceptable distance. Bitty crossed his legs, set his notebook in his lap, and didn't move.

Savannah and Jack arrived right after the table had been pushed into the opposite corner and out of the shot. Bitty was well aware of the one pointed in his direction but did his best to ignore it. He was more used to talking to it; on his vlog he looked directly into the camera as much as he could, speaking directly to his audience. In high school when he and a crew toured state fairs across the country, the audience was still the most important part of the show. This wasn't about an audience. This was about Jack.

Bitty stood when Jack entered, dressed to the nines in pale gray suit and a blue tie that emphasized his eyes. He wasn't wearing a hat this time, and while Bitty had seen him in plenty of photographs and video footage with no hat and no helmet, this was the first time in real life Bitty had the opportunity to look at his full head of black hair. His bangs pointed in multiple directions but mostly flopped over his forehead like curtains, and when Jack approached Bitty, it was clear he hadn't let anyone touch it.

Jack glanced at Bitty's outfit and immediately a smirk appeared on his lips. "Nice, Bittle," he said, gesturing to Bitty's pants.

"Well when I left the house this morning my pants matched the rest of my outfit," said Bitty, trying not to giggle at Jack's playful expression. Jack simply nodded, the smirk cemented on his lips. "Stop it! This guy over here made me change!" Bitty pointed at Ted; Jack looked at him.

"Was there something wrong with the jacket he came in with?" Jack asked.

"He had on a blue tie, Jack," said Ted. "It was too similar to yours." Jack glanced down at his tie and then proceeded to remove it.

"There," Jack said. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and sat down. Bitty changed back into the jacket and tie Michael had dressed him in at the station but decided not to mention it wasn't actually what he was wearing when he left home. When Bitty sat down, Jack gave an approving nod. "Better."

"Thanks, Jack," said Bitty. "Are you ready?"

"I do this every day, Bittle," said Jack. It was the second time Jack had said his name. Bitty smiled before he could help it and quickly pursed his lips to try to hide his glee. "Are you ready?" Jack continued. "You look nervous. I promise I'm a very nice person."

Savannah barked a laugh that she quickly covered up with a cough. Jack glared at her. "Sorry," she said, still fake coughing. "Swallowed wrong."

"I'm sure you'll be very nice to me," said Bitty. He looked at the rest of the people in the room. "Are we ready yet?"

"Just a minute, Mr. Bittle," said Ted. Bitty gave him a judgmental glance before looking back at Jack.

"So are you going to win tomorrow?" Bitty asked Jack.

"I thought we weren't ready yet," said Jack.

"I'm not going to ask you about the game during the interview. That's more about you and your career and your future. I personally want to know if you're going to win tomorrow."

"I hope so," said Jack with a frown. "It's been a rocky month. I feel like we're in a rut since we played the Aces just after the new year, like we can't get anything going. We win a game and get excited and the next one's a loss. It's frustrating."

"I hear ya," said Bitty, matching Jack's expression. "We've been  _ this close _ to the Frozen Four every year since I joined the team and we get kicked out every year. I can't play this semester because of all this stuff, but last semester I felt like as soon as we got something going we'd hit a wall."

"You said you're at Samwell, right?" Jack asked. Bitty nodded. "My mom went there. I think I might have gone if I wasn't drafted."

"Yeah? That's cool. Although I have a hard time believing a situation where you wouldn't be drafted," said Bitty. Jack frowned and Bitty felt shame fill his chest as he remembered what had happened just after Jack was drafted.

"What position do you play?" Jack asked.

"Forward. Right wing."

"Nice," said Jack. "You look speedy."

"It's the only reason I'm still on the team," said Bitty, and the shame filled his chest again. Here he was in a NHL arena, waiting for a crew of people to set up equipment for an interview that would broadcast nationally, and he was bringing up his own personal demons. Bitty glanced at Ted, who nodded.

"When you're ready, Mr. Bittle," he said.

"Ready?" Bitty asked Jack. Jack nodded. "I'm afraid I have to start with a serious question. We need to get it out of the way so we can move on." Bitty noticed Jack's fingers tense against the arms of the chair. Bitty looked him directly in the eyes. " What do you have to say about the allegation that you are, in fact, a cyborg created by the Canadian government in 2007 to become  _ the perfect hockey robot _ ?"

Jack's grip lessened but he looked completely confused. "What?" he asked.

Bitty pulled his phone out of his pocket, opened up Youtube, and presented Jack with a video he'd discovered at two o'clock in the morning. It had about two hundred hits and was poorly edited, but Jack's eyes lit up as the X-Files theme song began to play over incriminating evidence of Jack's robotic origins.

After about thirty seconds of watching, Jack burst out into genuine, hysterical laughter to the surprise of everyone in the room. Bitty smirked, just for a moment, then returned to his unbiased interviewer expression. Jack looked directly into Bitty's eyes and laughed again. His laugh was so unlike what Bitty had imagined it to sound — Bitty expected a low, breathy chuckle, but Jack's natural laugh was high-pitched and rhythmic, as if he were giggling but also trying not to.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Bitty pressed.

"I don't know what to tell you," Jack said, throwing up a defeated hand as he returned Bitty's phone. "It makes a very convincing argument."

"Well what do you have to say to the allegation that they also created Wayne as a failed attempt to make you look more human?" Bitty asked. Jack frowned, much differently than he had when Bitty brought up the draft. It was a pouty, good-natured sort of frown.

"Aww," Jack said. "Wayne's a good dog."

"Okay, okay," said Bitty. "I think you're loosened up enough. I won't pick on Wayne. Tell me, Jack, why do you love hockey so much?"

Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together as he shortened the distance between them. "You know, that's kind of hard to say," he began. "When you've loved something for as long as I have, for literally as long as I can remember, it's hard to pinpoint why. Hockey's been the number one part of my life since I learned how to skate. There's never been anything else."

"Why don't you take a minute and think about it?" Bitty asked.

Jack did. Bitty waited patiently, careful of his attitude and demeanor so as not to make Jack feel rushed. Jack looked toward the wall, opposite of the rest of the observers. No one else seemed to want to be as patient as Bitty, and even from across the room he could feel their anticipation and need to meet deadlines. When it was clear Jack needed more than just a few seconds to think about it, Savannah shifted impatiently in her chair.

"Hey, we're good here for a while, right?" Bitty asked, gesturing to the two cameras and the booms that had been set up, unmanned, over both Bitty and Jack. Jack glanced over and back toward the rest of the observers. Bitty counted ten of them before someone spoke.

"Yes, we should be set up correctly for the remainder of the interview," said Ted.

"Great. Can everyone wait outside, please?" Bitty asked.

It was clear from the shuffling of chairs and incredulous looks that no one wanted to be the first to leave. Bitty looked at Jack. "Would that be better?" Bitty asked. Jack nodded. Bitty looked at Michael specifically, who let out a long breath and headed to the door. Reluctantly, the rest of the staff and crew followed. When the door closed, Bitty looked back at Jack.

"I don't know how long you have," said Bitty, "but take as much time as you need."

Jack nodded again and took almost a full minute still before he looked back at Bitty and began to speak again: "I love the way hockey sounds. I love the clacking of the blade of my skates on the ice. I love the snap of a puck right into the tape. I love the skid of a snow shower when I change direction. When I'm there and I'm in my groove with my best line on my sides, that's all I can hear. There's nothing else."

Bitty smiled, and Jack smiled in return.

"Thanks, Jack," said Bitty. "That's great."

"Thanks for giving me time to think about it," replied Jack. He sat back. "What else you got for me?"

Bitty continued on.

 

***

 

The special aired on ESPN the following week.  While Bitty was stuck at the station, the rest of the Samwell Men's Hockey team threw a viewing party at the Haus in his honor, and Bitty's phone vibrated every five seconds for thirty straight minutes as the group chat blew up with commentary and screencaps. 

      **Ransom**  
     BITS YOU LOOK HOT  
  
      **Holster**  
     HOTTEST INTERN AT NBC  
  
      **Chowder**  
     You're so professional! How can you be that professional when you're two feet away from JACK ZIMMERMANN?  
  
      **Lardo**  
     Dude. You're a big shot reporter now.  
  
      **Mama**  
     Honey, we're so proud of you! Call me when you're done with work!

Bitty rolled his eyes at each of them until he left the station at ten o'clock and called his mother back. "Sorry I'm calling so late, I had a lot of editing to do," said Bitty when she picked up the phone on the second ring.

"Oh, honey, don't you worry about that! We've been dying to speak to you. I told you not to work too hard. It is an internship after all, not a full-time job." Bitty looked at the time again on the radio of his truck; this was not a normal full-time job. This was more than a full time job.

"It's a lot of good experience, Mama," said Bitty.

"Your daddy and I watched the whole thing. I have it recorded on the DVR. I might try to get a copy of it so we can save it."

"I can make you a copy at the station. I'll send it tomorrow."

"Oh that would be perfect! I don't know if everyone got to see it. Your MooMaw came over to watch it with us, and your Aunt Connie and Uncle Jeffrey. And the MacKenzies across the street came over too."

"Oh, Lord, Mama, that's ridiculous. Did you invite the whole neighborhood?"

"Well not the whole neighborhood, no, but I did put it out there on the Facebook group. Everyone's very proud of you. Are you part of the Facebook group? You should be, everyone's saying good things about your interview. You were so professional, like one of those real reporters. Do you think that they're going to give you a job after you graduate?"

"I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead."

"Well they'd be stupid not to. Not every local reporter gets a half hour special on ESPN. What's Jack Zimmermann like? I know you've been in the locker room with him a few times but what's he like in an interview? How long did you talk to him?"

"He's very polite," said Bitty and he stopped talking. There was nothing else he could say without sinking into a whirlpool of emotion that his mother couldn't know.

"That's it? You know they said he was hard to talk to, like he doesn't have a personality. You made him seem so likeable!"

"He is, Mama," said Bitty carefully. "He's very likeable. I just… I don't know. We're still getting to know each other. I have to go, I'm getting to the dark part of the drive and I need to focus. I'll text you tomorrow after I get that copy in the mail."

"Okay, honey. I love you! I can't wait for you to come home so we can talk about all this!"

Bitty hung up the phone and threw it onto the seat next to him before he frowned. He definitely didn't want to go home to Georgia and talk about this. This was not a conversation he could ever have in that place.

After the special aired, the Falconers' next home game had record attendance despite being the coldest day of the year. Bitty shivered his entire drive to the arena; he and Ian drove separately since Bitty just wanted to go home afterward and edit there, and the heat in the truck was functional but slow to warm. The station and the arena were about thirty minutes apart, and it took until Bitty reached downtown to feel his fingers again.

After a month of his internship, he'd settled into a routine in the box. The same people showed up to each practice and home game and had their spots where they liked to sit. Bitty and Ian usually sat in the front row three and four seats from the end, next to Vanessa from NBC national. Even if he and Ian were running late, their seats were left empty for them. However when Bitty arrived to the Aces game an hour before the puck dropped and entered the press box, all of the standard seats were taken. Most of the news outlets had added an extra person and it seemed as though every visiting rightsholder had a small entourage with them.

Ian occupied one of the fold-up chairs in the corner and was holding tight to another as if it would be stolen right from his hands. Bitty weaved through some people he'd never met with a quiet, "Sorry. Excuse me, I'm sorry. Sorry."

"There you are," said Ian. "Another five minutes and it'll be standing room only."

"What the heck is going on in here?" Bitty asked. He took the chair from Ian and unfolded it so he could sit.

"It's always like this when we play the Aces," said Ian. "You should talk to Savannah and get your name on a few of the posts now. She likes you, so you might be able to get to talk to Kent Parson." Bitty crinkled his nose; he had no desire to talk to other teams, but he knew he couldn't avoid the most popular player in the sport.

"Right. I'm going now. Don't let someone take my chair."

Ian looked pained. "Just hurry," he said.

Savannah's office door was closed. Considering the amount of people walking through the hallway and looking at the nameplates on the doors, Bitty assumed most of them were looking for her. He knocked on her door but she didn't answer. Ian had made a good point that he needed to get his request in early, so he took a breath and carefully opened the door. He poked his head inside to see Savannah sitting on her desk at her computer. She looked up.

"Oh! Eric, hi!" she said. "I didn't know it was you."

"Can I come in?" Bitty asked.

"Of course. Quickly. Don't let people know I'm here."

Bitty slipped inside the office and sat down. "Is it always this nuts when we play the Aces?" Savannah groaned and nodded.

"Ugh, yes, it's the worst. You'd think we were divisional rivals or something. I don't want to see a single other person from Vegas. I'm already allowing way more local news outlets into my dressing room than I should, and their PR contact is about to kill me for letting too many into his room. Please don't tell me you're in here because you want to talk to Parson."

Bitty smiled innocently.

"Nope," she said. "I already have FOX and ABC going in there."

"Yeah, but I'm NBC," said Bitty.

"Yeah, and you can get footage from NBCSN."

Bitty frowned but Savannah still shook her head. "Do you like pie?" Bitty asked.

Savannah raised an eyebrow. "Pie?"

"Yeah. Like apple pie or blueberry pie. It doesn't have to be pie. I can make muffins or jam or…"

"I heard a rumor about you," said Savannah. "If you make me a dozen apple turnovers and bring them to practice tomorrow I will let you talk to Kent Parson tonight. You've gotta do it fast, though, he's got time for five minutes and then he has to leave."

"Oh," said Bitty, frowning. "Can I still interview Jack?"

"You'll have to get Jack footage from someone else. Unless you brought Jason?" Bitty shook his head. "By the time you're done with Parson, Jack will be done too. Pick one."

"Can I do a quick hit?" Bitty asked. Savannah sighed.

"After the first. You owe me a dozen turnovers and blueberry jam. A fuckton of blueberry jam."

"You got it," said Bitty. "Thanks, Savannah."

"If anyone asks, you never saw me."

After the first period, Bitty and Ian were waiting on the other side of the gate for Kent to come off the ice. He'd already scored a goal and an assist to put the Aces up by one after Thirdy put one in the net on the very first shift. Kent took his helmet off and ran his gloves through his hair, which made the blond locks horribly messy. His bangs stood straight up and the rest of it either curled down over his forehead or up back into his hair. Bitty considered saying something, but he only had time for two questions. Kent approached, smug, and looked Bitty over before he let Bitty speak.

"Kent, two points already and we're just done with one. What's your plan for the rest of the game?"

"Well," said Kent into Bitty's microphone, and Bitty was surprised at the civility in his first word, "I want to keep this up. We've had such a good season so far and if tonight's anything like it was in January when the Falcs came out to see us, we're in for a good forty minutes."

Bitty didn't like the sound of that.

"What's your strategy against the Falconers' defense? Alexei Mashkov hasn't left you alone since the puck dropped."

A wide grin crossed Kent's lips and he scratched just under his ear. "He hasn't, has he?" Kent mused.

"How do you plan to hold him off?"

Kent laughed, just quickly, before he took in a breath and continued to smile as he answered the question. "Mashkov and I have a long history. I know how to handle him. Like I said, if last game was any indication, we just need to keep our focus and we'll walk away with the win."

"Thanks, Kent," said Bitty. Kent nodded and headed away. Bitty frowned; while Kent was polite and provided suitable sound bites for Bitty's next segment, there was something about him that put Bitty off. Bitty looked at Ian, who seemed to feel the same way.

"Overconfident asshole," said Ian. "He's like that every time. Yeah, you've got two Cups. You're only up by one and we've got two whole periods left."

"Right?" said Bitty, but he didn't continue the conversation as they made their way back to the press box and hoped their seats hadn't been stolen while they were gone.

Forty minutes of gameplay later, Alexei Mashkov had a goal to match his assist, but the Aces had scored three more times, and nothing Mashkov had done either defensively or offensively seemed to matter. Bitty regretted not asking Savannah for time with him too, but Savannah had actually disappeared when the game started. Unless Bitty just sidled into an interview after he finished with Jack, there was no way he'd be able to talk to Alexei as well.

Jack didn't look pleased with himself when Bitty huddled inside the larger-than-average group of reporters and cameras after the game. Jack hid his eyes under his scuzzy Falconers cap when someone else asked the first question about Kent Parson. Jack barely looked up and gave his best canned answer: "It's been a long time since Kent and I were friends. We're completely different people than we were when we knew each other in the Q."

"Y'all were still able to put up two goals tonight — what do you think of Mashkov's points and how he's developed defensively?" Bitty asked. Jack raised his eyes and looked at Bitty. Bitty could feel the weight of Jack's gaze from his head to his toes.

"Tater's good," said Jack. "He continues to get better every year. He's definitely one of our top blueliners and the fact that he can put up points too makes him a well-rounded player. He had a great game tonight."

"I'm sure he feels right at home with how cold it is out there," said Bitty, and Jack laughed. It caused Bitty to smile but the rest of the reporters to shift awkwardly, as if they didn't know how to follow up laughter. One of the Vegas reporters recovered quickly, bringing the topic back to the Aces. Jack hid his eyes again and Bitty looked over his shoulder toward Alexei, who had just sat down in his stall. Alexei looked back, confusion in his eyes as he watched the group around Jack. Bitty turned back to look at Jack, who was replying to the Vegas reporter in his usual robot voice, and Bitty was disappointed.

He didn't get an interview with Mashkov; as soon as they finished with Jack, Alexei was already gone. Bitty handed his microphone back to Ian to pack up. "I'll meet you back in the box. Let me take that home and work on it."

"Sure thing, boss," said Ian, which both surprised and embarrassed Bitty. He certainly did not feel like anyone's boss. Just as Bitty closed his notebook and prepared to follow Ian out of the room, Jack called for him. Bitty headed over; now that the reporters were filing out, Jack had taken off his shirt and Bitty desperately tried not to look at the sudden expanse of skin in front of him.

"Hey," Jack said, "thanks for not asking about Parse."

"No problem," replied Bitty. "I figured the first question kind of covered it. And the third. And fourth." Jack rolled his eyes.

"Some things never leave you, I guess."

"I suppose so. See you tomorrow, Jack."

"See you tomorrow, Bittle," Jack replied.

Bitty entered the parking structure alone. Despite arriving after most of the rest of the other reporters, he managed a spot on the second level of the garage, going down. It didn't matter that he was in a parking structure, though. It had to be zero degrees now that the sun had set, and Bitty's fingers and toes were ice cubes by the time he made it into the truck. He opened the passenger's door and carefully set his camera on the floor before he headed to the driver's side, desperate for warmth. He put the key in the ignition, turned it, and nothing happened.

"Oh my God," Bitty said immediately. He tried it again. Nothing happened. "Oh my God, no. This cannot be happening right now." He looked at his phone — it was nearly midnight at this point — and realized just as he opened his contacts list that he did not have Ian's phone number. Everyone else he knew that owned a car was back at Samwell, forty-five minutes away. "Oh Lord, please just start. Please just get me home."

The battery was dead. Bitty blew into his hands for warmth, but it barely helped. It was entirely too cold both in and out of the car and he had no one to save him. He hopped out and slammed the door. He could probably still get inside the arena, where at least it was warm, and wait until one of the frogs could come get him. Before he headed off back in that direction, he kicked the tire for good measure, frustrated and exhausted, and then started toward the arena when a black sports car stopped in front of him.

The window lowered and Jack's face appeared.

"Hey," Jack said. "Everything okay?"

Bitty was too tired and too cold to care that this was Jack Zimmermann, and that maybe he shouldn't kick his car again right in front of a local celebrity.

"No," said Bitty. "My stupid car won't start."

"Yeah, you probably need a new battery, eh? It's cold out here."

"It's FREEZING out here!" Bitty complained.

"I can give you a jump if you want," said Jack. "I've got cables in my trunk."

Bitty nodded. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his brown pea coat and could feel his whole body start to shiver. Jack parked his car closer to Bitty's to make room for anyone else who wanted to exit the structure. Bitty popped the hood of his truck, which was about as far in this process as he could go without instruction. Jack was dressed in a suit but had a long coat on, and Bitty did his best to ignore how good it looked on him.

"Where are your gloves?" Jack asked before he even unwound the jumper cables. "And your hat?"

"At home," said Bitty. "I didn't realize it was supposed to be this cold."

"It's February 13th, Bittle, and you're in Rhode Island after the sun sets. What did you think the temperature was going to be?" Jack asked. Bitty frowned. Jack opened the back door of his car and rummaged for a moment before he handed Bitty a pair of blue mittens with the Falconers logo on them. "Here."

"I have gloves, Jack. They're just at home."

"Take them. Look at how red your hands are already." Bitty looked at his hands; his skin was bright pink from the second knuckle to the tips of his fingers. He accepted the mittens from Jack and begrudgingly put them on. It helped.

Jack handled the jumper cable business, hooking wires to car parts that Bitty couldn't identify.  Bitty stopped to take in the sight in front of him: Jack stood casually in front of the truck, his coat open despite the cold. Bitty's eyes traveled up Jack's body, from the firm stretch of the fabric against his strong thighs to the silver buckle of his black belt that met his crisp white dress shirt. He wore no tie, his shirt unbuttoned at the neck, and even with the poor light in the garage Bitty could see the shadowed outline of his jaw. He followed it up into Jack's dark hair. Bitty knew he was staring, but since Jack was otherwise occupied, Bitty looked his fill. Jack was comfortable, standing in a place that he visited daily. This was just how Jack looked when he was done with work, and Bitty understood why Jack was the face of the franchise. He was gorgeous.

When Jack called for Bitty to get in his car and try to start it, Bitty felt like he had become an icicle that was just part of the parking structure now. His legs were stiff and his skin was so sensitive it hurt every time he moved. Fortunately, when he tried his key in the ignition again, his car started.

"Oh thank God," said Bitty. He stuck his head out his window. "Thank you, Jack."

Jack removed the cables from Bitty's battery and shut the hood. "No problem," he replied. Bitty turned up his heat to full blast, impatient that it was only blowing cold air in his direction. Jack shut his own hood but instead of getting back in his car, he approached Bitty's window. "Hey."

"Hey," replied Bitty.

"Do you want to…like…hang out?" Jack asked, and Bitty had to focus to prevent his eyebrows from flying off his face in surprise.

"Right now?" Bitty asked. "It's midnight."

"No, not right now," said Jack, going red in the cheeks. "In general. We're home for the next two weeks. We could have lunch or something."

"Sure," said Bitty. "Do you want to just text me?"

"Yeah. Can I have your number?" Jack took out his phone. Bitty dictated his number and a moment later felt his own phone buzz in his pocket. Jack looked back up at him. "I don't know what your situation with the station is and when you have to work."

"We can figure something out," said Bitty. "Maybe after practice some day. If you give me enough notice I can clear an afternoon."

"Okay," said Jack. "Thanks."

"No, thank you, Jack. I'd have frozen to death if you hadn't come by."

"Don't forget your gloves again," said Jack. Bitty looked down at the mittens on his hands. They were actually incredibly warm and he didn't want to take them off, but he couldn't possibly keep thirty dollars worth of merchandise. He began to remove them but Jack waved him off. "Nah, keep them. I probably have ten pairs by now."

"Thank you," said Bitty again. Jack smiled at him and Bitty finally felt warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, the "Jack Zimmermann is a Hockey Robot" youtube video is directly inspired by [The Honk of Truth: A Crosby Conspiracy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wKzjyhiBwDw) in which it reveals the TRUTH: that Sidney Crosby is actually a Canadian goose.


	6. Chapter 6

"I've met a good number of people over the course of my life who've been into baking like me. When I was seventeen, before my senior year of high school, I was given an opportunity to travel the country to find the best desserts at the state fair. More than anything, I was amazed at how many people I met who didn't actually eat baked goods. Can you imagine that? Living your entire life making treats for other people and not eating any yourself? I understand as you get older limiting your sugar intake for health reasons, but you have to taste your food to know what's good. People are constantly innovating and your grandma's apple pie might be fantastic, but if you've never eaten the Orange Juice Apple Pie at the Tennessee State Fair, you haven't lived.

"So suffice to say, I've had my share of food, and not all of it has been good. I can tell within three seconds if a filling came from a can or if the crust was store bought. I can also tell if you have no idea what you're doing or if you're just lazy, and at least for the former I'd be polite about it. But if you own a restaurant and you're serving me lazy food, I'm going to get angry. Hire a damn pastry chef."

Bitty paused, realizing he'd riled himself up over nothing. He flipped the viewfinder on his camera; when it was in his view, he had a tendency to look at it, so he usually kept it facing away when he filmed the introductions to his vlogs. He adjusted his hair over his ears and took a breath to even his coloring, then turned the viewfinder away and continued to speak.

"We're going to talk about filling specifically today. Filling is only as complicated as you make it, but there are a few key points here to get the best results. If you've ever had an apple pie that came out too watery or a cherry pie that came out too syrupy, you've probably made some easily correctable mistakes in your preparation or presentation. I've got a list of five easily correctable mistakes that'll turn you from a rookie to a pro in no time flat."

"Bro," said Nursey as he walked into the kitchen, flanked on either side by Dex and Chowder, "a pie's a pie. Who cares if it's a little watery?"

"Excuse me," said Bitty, both of his hands on his hips. "I distinctly remember instating a Haus bylaw that no one can interrupt vlogs being filmed in the kitchen." Chowder let out an "eep!" and backtracked toward the door, but Dex rolled his eyes.

"Nothing's official unless it's written behind the furnace," Dex sassed.

"I wrote it behind the furnace! Number thirty-seven, no bothering Bitty when he's making vlogs for his subscribers who are much kinder and much more particular about their pie!"

"Okay, okay," relented Nursey, "we'll move to the couch and be quiet. But…is there any pie?"

"No!" said Bitty, pointing at the door. Nursey, Dex, and Chowder all stared at Bitty and he sighed. "Not yet. Come back in an hour."

"Thanks, B," said Nursey. "You're the best."

"Go away. I'll come get you when the pie is done."

The frogs disappeared into another room and Bitty rolled his eyes before he picked up an apple and continued on.

 

* * *

 

"How much is this going to cost me, Dex?" Bitty asked as Dex looked inside the hood of his car. The morning after Jack rescued him in Providence, his car failed to start again. Bitty had anticipated that and attempted it before the team would be up for practice. When his key did absolutely nothing in the ignition, Bitty sent four emergency texts to Dex.

"They vary in price. Depends on where we go and if we get a normal one or a premium one —"

"Normal. I'm not putting premium anything in this piece of shit," said Bitty. He quickly patted the exterior of the vehicle. "Sorry, Blue." Dex lowered the hood, the old battery in his hand.

"Probably around a hundred dollars, then. It'll be cheaper if we buy it online." 

Bitty shook his head. "I need to go to work today," he said. "I don't have time to wait for it to be delivered."

"Then we have to pick it up from the AutoZone, and it's going to be a hundred dollars at the minimum. You okay with that?" Bitty cringed and not just from the cold. The temperature wasn't nearly as bad as it had been the night before when Jack gave him the jump, but it still wasn't pleasant. Jack's mittens were very warm, though, and Bitty's hands remained unfrozen. He could not say the same for his toes.

"I guess I have to be," said Bitty. "It'd be nice if they paid me above minimum wage. I know I'm just an intern, but I'm practically their full-time sports correspondent now. I'm barely making it by with all the gas this thing guzzles."

"And all the pie you bake us," chimed in Nursey, who had yet to say anything while Dex performed his exam on the vehicle. "Don't forget about the pie."

"Okay, we've got to book it," said Bitty, ushering both boys down the street toward AutoZone. "I have to be at the arena for practice before noon and I still have to make Nursey's birthday cake."

"Dude, I was just messing around, you don't have to make me a birthday cake," said Nursey. "It's totally chill. I know you've been crazy busy this semester."

"Derek Nurse, how dare you insult me by refusing birthday treats," said Bitty, a hand to his chest, aghast. Nursey laughed a low easy chuckle and then put his hands up.

"I'm sorry, Bitty. I will never decline your baked goods again."

"That's better," said Bitty.

They walked in silence down the block, Bitty setting the pace at just-under-running, since it was already eight o'clock in the morning and despite his usual baking speed, birthday cakes took longer than pies. When they turned the corner, Nursey nudged Dex with his elbow.

"Yo, Poindexter, why are you a CompSci major if you know so much about cars?" Nursey asked. "Haven't you worked in a body shop since you were in diapers?"

"Some of us don't want to spend the rest of our lives in a fucking auto shop, Nursey," said Dex. When Bitty looked at him, his ears were already red, and Bitty was well versed in the signs of a Nursey/Dex blow up.

"Dude, it's chill. You could make mad bank from a body shop, you know."

"Yes, I know," said Dex through gritted teeth.

"Like, you don't even need a degree for that. You can just open one up. Get a space near some wealthy folks and work on their Maseratis and shit."

"Listen, Nursey," said Dex, rounding on him, "I've worked a lot of places. Yes, one of those places was at my uncle's shop. I could easily fix things for the rest of my life and be fine, but I don't want to be like my uncles. I don't want to come home at the end of the day with grease under my fingernails, or smelling like the fish, or throwing out my back at thirty and having to worry the rest of my life about how to support my family because my body failed me. I wanted to get away from that and that's why I'm here. I'm going to get a well paying job where I can sit at a desk or in an office or whatever and just be inside for once. I don't want to do this shit for the rest of my life."

Nursey backed off and Dex dropped it, but he continued to stomp down the street. Bitty walked awkwardly on Dex's other side, avoiding the heavy battery that swung from Dex's fist.

"I'm sorry I keep asking you to fix my car," said Bitty.

"No, Bitty," said Dex with a dismissive swing of his hand that also contained the battery. Bitty stepped into the snow to avoid getting pelted in the stomach. "I don't mean it like that. You've got a cool, important job and an unfortunate vehicle. I'm happy to help. I just don't want to do this forever."

They turned another corner and Nursey spoke up again. "Sorry I assumed."

"We're good, Nurse."

"Yeah?" asked Nursey hopefully. "Do I still get my birthday gift?"

"Dick, you know I didn't buy you anything," said Dex.

"No worries. We've still got time."

"I am not buying you a birthday present!" yelled Dex and Nursey chuckled again.

A hundred and forty dollars later, Bitty had a new battery in his truck.

 

***

 

A few days later Bitty had just finished his post-practice interviews when Jack called him over. Bitty had taken to dallying after posts because he could usually get in a sentence or two with Jack before one of them needed to leave. Ian seemed to be the only one who caught on to this practice and usually disappeared as soon as Bitty approached Jack again.

"Do you have time for lunch?" Jack asked. Bitty glanced at his watch. "It's cool if you already ate."

"Nah, I could eat," said Bitty with a small smile. "Let me just hand off to Ian — we drove together so do you think you could take me back to the station?"

"Yeah, of course," said Jack. "I've got to shower still. I'll meet you in the hall in fifteen?"

Bitty nodded. "Yep."

He walked as casually as possible out of the dressing room and then, once out of earshot, whipped out his phone and called Sandy, who answered on the second ring.

"Eric, what's up?" Sandy asked. Bitty felt a weight sink into his chest as he thought about the favor he was about to ask, and how he had never wanted to turn into Jason.

"I need a favor," said Bitty.

"Uh-oh," replied Sandy, and Bitty's heart began to hammer. "Running late?"

"Jack wants to have lunch," said Bitty. "I'm coming back to the station after but I'm not entirely sure if I'll be able to get a segment done by five. I can make something for sure for primetime and evening. I know you hate it when Jason does this to you and I swear I'm not Jason, I'm not the kind of guy who pushes stuff off on other people, but if Jack Zimmermann asks you to come to lunch you kind of have to go. I mean the boy doesn't ever talk to anyone, this is kind of a big deal —"

"Calm down, Eric," said Sandy with a chuckle. "I know you're nothing like Jason. I'll make your afternoon and primetime edits for you, but when you come back to make your evening segment I want to hear all about what Jack Zimmermann eats for lunch. I hope it's ten steaks and four plates of pasta."

"I seriously doubt he's going to eat ten steaks for lunch, Sandy," said Bitty.

"You never know. They've got these guys on ten thousand calorie diets."

"If it's ridiculous I'll take a picture," said Bitty. "Thanks, Sandy."

"Just don't do this to me again."

When Bitty told Ian to take off without him, Ian simply raised his eyebrows and left. Bitty took in a deep breath, fixed his hair via his reflection in one of the windows, and headed as calmly as possible back toward the dressing room. When he arrived Jack was already standing there, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt. Jack leaned against the wall, one of his legs holding his weight, the other bent and resting on the wall as well. Bitty grew embarrassed at how such a simple outfit like this could cause a rise out him, so he cleared his throat and approached, drawing Jack's attention. Jack smiled upon seeing Bitty and Bitty smiled back. 

"Ready?" Bitty asked.

"Yes," said Jack. "There's this place a few blocks away that I go to a lot. They have really good steak." Bitty bit his lip to keep his laughter in. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sounds great," said Bitty. He glanced at Jack again; Jack had not put on a coat. "Are we walking? It's not as cold as the other day but it's still freezing."

"It's forty out," said Jack.

"Yeah. Forty. Not eighty."

"I'll be fine," said Jack before he glanced at what Bitty was wearing; Bitty had put on his brown pea coat again and tied his scarf tight to his neck. "Where are your gloves? Do I need to start carrying around gloves for you?"

"I left them at home," said Bitty, which was the truth. Both his usual pair of black gloves and the Falconers mittens he'd received from Jack were sitting on top of his desk in his room.

"All right, we'll drive. I swear, Bittle, it's like you don't know how winter works."

"I am from Georgia after all," said Bitty. "Not much winter down there."

"That explains a lot," said Jack.

The inside of Jack's car was just as nice as Bitty imagined it to be. When Jack started it with a push of a button, the black leather seat underneath Bitty began to warm. Bitty had to be cognizant not to moan and sink into it, since just the journey from the exit of the practice facility to Jack's parking space was enough to make his bones feel cold. The heat from the vents was warm in seconds, and by the time they were out of the parking lot, Bitty felt comfortable. That was never the case in his truck.

It was pretty pointless to take the car, however, because in less than sixty seconds Jack pulled up to the valet station in front of the restaurant. A valet opened the door for Bitty, who was not expecting it. The man smiled and nodded at him. "Thank you," said Bitty.

"You're welcome, sir," said the valet. Bitty waited for Jack under the awning. The restaurant looked upscale but not so much that Bitty felt out of place in jeans. Bitty entered first and stood awkwardly in front of the hostess's counter. When Jack came through the revolving door behind him, the hostess lit up.

"Mr. Zimmermann, good afternoon!" she said with a bright, cheery smile. She gave Bitty a side glance before she returned her full attention to Jack. "Would you like your usual table in the back?"

"Yes we would," said Jack. The hostess picked up two menus and led them to a square table near the back of the restaurant. While not completely secluded from the rest of the diners, it felt as private as a table could be without having its own room. Jack sat facing the wall, which Bitty assumed he usually did, and Bitty sat across from him.

Bitty didn't realize how hungry he was until he looked over the menu. Most of his meals since he started working at NBC 10 consisted of baked goods he left in the break room, hamburgers through the drive thru on the way to the arena, and the least disgusting snacks he could find in the vending machine. He usually forgot about food until his body threatened to stop functioning, and at that point he picked the most convenient option. He hadn't had a decent meal in weeks, and his mother would faint if she knew that.

"So you weren't lying when you said you come here often," said Bitty after a waitress greeted them with a pleasant smile and a hand to Jack's shoulder. She had already set a bottle of Perrier on the table before she asked Bitty what he wanted.

"During the season, I'm here probably once or twice a week. I go home every summer and it's always a big deal the first time I come back after camp begins. The people are friendly but not too friendly, eh? I feel like I can sit here and eat and not have to worry about them bothering me. They keep the fans away too."

"That must be nice," said Bitty. "Do you have someone to cook for you at home?"

"Sometimes my neighbor will bring over a casserole or something, but she's not the best cook. I usually eat it to be nice, but I've made it worse because I think I started encouraging her. She's retired so all she does is cook and cross stitch. I luckily have avoided her pawning off handmade pillows on me, but I'm stuck with her eggplant parmesan and baked ziti."

"Sounds terribly inconvenient," said Bitty and Jack laughed.

"It's horrible. Sometimes I have to eat a whole casserole in one sitting."

"You're truly a martyr here," said Bitty, shaking as he held in his giggles, but Jack continued to laugh so Bitty did as well, and when their waitress returned with Bitty's coke, both of them were just settling down.

"Everything all right over here?" she asked. Jack nodded. "Do you boys need a minute or can I put something in now?"

Bitty wanted everything on the menu but stuck to just a burger and listened with interest as Jack put in his order. He did not order ten steaks, to Bitty's disappointment, but did order the largest steak they had, fettuccine alfredo, and a salad. "Do you always have to eat like that?" Bitty asked.

"Yes," said Jack. "It gets kind of annoying. I'm not even that hungry but when you're on the ice every day and you're in the gym just as much, you burn a lot of calories. You must know. How often do you practice?"

"We practice most days," said Bitty. "I've only been able to go on Thursdays since I started this internship, though. I thought I'd be able to play a few games but there's no way, not with how this is turning out. It's disappointing because we're doing really well this season. We're going to go to the playoffs for sure, and I'm pretty confident that we'll get far. Maybe not Frozen Four far, but hopefully close. It sucks not being able to be part of it."

"I hear that. I was out for a month in 2014 with a concussion. I was still there every day but I couldn't play and I just… I don't know. Even in summer I don't go that long without playing or at least practicing. I felt like I was going to forget how to skate."

"Jack Zimmermann, forget how to skate? Unlikely," said Bitty and Jack cracked a smile.

"You think weird things when you're not in your routine. I have a tendency to worry regardless," said Jack with a shrug. "But I don't want to talk about me. I feel like I talk about me all day."

"You kind of do," said Bitty. "We can talk about something else."

"Tell me about you," said Jack. "You go to Samwell. You're a forward on the hockey team. You're from Georgia. I'm assuming you're a journalism major? Otherwise I think this internship would be kind of a waste of time."

"Yeah," said Bitty, "I'm a broadcast journalism major. This is actually part of the program at Samwell. Usually you get shipped off to some rural town in Nowhere, USA so you can have on-air experience, but when I was planning for my TM — my Teaching Media — I saw an internship at NBC 10 so I convinced my advisor to let me do that instead. I can still live in the Haus with my team and sometimes go to practice, so it worked out pretty well. Although my truck's a piece of shit, as you know. I just hope it lasts me the rest of the semester."

"Was it just the battery?" Jack asked. Bitty nodded. "I'm glad it was just that. So you're only interning the rest of the semester?" Bitty nodded again. "When's the semester over?"

"Usually May. My contract's just through the end of the regular season, though."

"Oh," said Jack.

The waitress came back with a tray and began setting their food down. Bitty waited for all of Jack's plates to make it to the table before he picked up a sweet potato fry from his own.

"So how much school do you have left?" Jack asked. He picked the red onions off his salad before he dug into it.

"Just one more year after this. Assuming I don't get fired and have to drop out because I didn't meet my TM requirement," said Bitty with a casual shrug.

"Are you afraid you're going to get fired?" Jack asked.

"Kind of. I think they've threatened to fire me five times already. I'm starting to believe that's just how the station works. They just scare you into thinking you're done so you'll work harder. I just have to make it to April 9th. That's all I care about."

"I'm sure if they fire you I can complain enough until they bring you back," said Jack. "I like you more than Jason. He's kind of a dick."

"Yeah, he is," said Bitty. "I don't like talking bad about coworkers, but I made six dozen mini pies for my first day on the job and he didn't even eat one. He even asked if I made them and then still didn't eat one."

"You like to bake?" Jack asked. Bitty nodded. "The pie here is fantastic. You should try it."

"Sure," said Bitty. His fries were delicious, as was his burger, so when they both had finished Bitty was looking forward to the pie options. Jack surprisingly did not take much longer to eat his meal than Bitty did, despite having three times the amount of food. Jack ordered cherry pie when the waitress collected their empty plates. When she set down the slice and two forks in front of them, Bitty could tell immediately that the filling was from a can.

Jack took the first bite and not to be rude, Bitty followed suit. He forced a smile when the pie hit his tongue; it was warmed in an oven at least, but the crust and filling both seemed to be premade, and not by hand. Jack watched Bitty's face as he swallowed.

"You hate it," said Jack.

"No," said Bitty quickly. "It's very…it's very fruity. Definitely a cherry pie."

"No, you hate it," said Jack with a low chuckle. "It's okay, you don't have to like it."

"You just haven't had good pie," said Bitty. "I'll make you some pie. You'll understand."

"I'll hold you to that," said Jack. "Thursday? After practice?"

"Sure," said Bitty.

 

***

 

After finishing his evening segment in the editing room with Sandy, Bitty returned home and headed directly to the Haus kitchen. He plopped several grocery bags on the counter and let out a deep sigh. Since starting at the station he did not have nearly enough time to spend in his kitchen. Baking seemed more like a chore than anything else; he sacrificed sleep to give Savannah her order in thanks for allowing his quick hit at the Aces game; he had to work late on Valentine's Day to finish Nursey's birthday cake and completely missed the party where Nursey cut into it.

Jack's cherry pie was in the oven when the front door opened and several people exploded through it. Bitty glanced over his shoulder to see Chowder leading Ransom, Holster, and Lardo past the kitchen, but all four stopped and came back.

"Bits!" yelled Holster. "You're home for once!" Holster trapped Bitty in a headlock and Bitty yelped in response as he was given a rough noogie.

"Stop it!" Bitty yelled. 

"Yo, is there pie?" Ransom asked.

"That pie is not for you!" said Bitty when Holster released him to peek inside the oven. "I will make something for y'all tonight but that pie is for —"

Bitty paused and glanced around the room at Holster, who'd released the oven handle and was looking over his shoulder back at Bitty, then to Ransom at the table and Lardo and Chowder waiting patiently by the door. Bitty stopped talking and felt his cheeks grow hot in embarrassment.

"Bits," said Ransom. "Who is this pie for if not for us?"

"It's, um. It's for…jackzimmermann."

"JACK ZIMMERMANN?" Holster yelled. "PLEASE TELL ME YOU DO NOT KNOW JACK ZIMMERMANN WELL ENOUGH THAT HE SPECIFICALLY REQUESTED PIE FROM YOU."

"He didn't  _ request  _ it, per se…" said Bitty, "but at lunch we had the WORST pie and he seemed to think it was great, but —"

"YOU HAD LUNCH WITH JACK ZIMMERMANN!"

"Bros," said Lardo from the doorway. "I thought you guys were going to help me with my art show, not harass Bitty the one time he's actually at the Haus in daylight."

Holster huffed and headed over to Lardo. "I see how it is. Bro, I just have to say before I go, I didn't even know Jack Zimmermann was gay. You've hit the fucking gold mine here. Good for you." Bitty's cheeks continued to flush and he turned to the ingredients on the counter before he replied.

"He's not. It's not like that. I just think he has a hard time relating to people and needs a friend."

"Yeah, a butt friend," said Holster.

"Holtzy," said Lardo. "What does that even mean?"

"You know," said Holster, "friends who touch each other's butts."

"Okay, we're going upstairs now," said Lardo. Ransom and Holster reluctantly followed her up the stairs. Bitty glanced over his shoulder and saw Chowder standing in the the doorway, confused at the conversation that had just taken place.

"Chowder, do you want to help me out with this blueberry pie? I used all the cherries for Jack's but these blueberries are really good."

"Sure," said Chowder.

After a few minutes it was clear Chowder was getting in the way more than actually helping, so Bitty had him sit at the table instead. "How's the season going so far? Lardo sends me updates but I don't always have time to look at them."

"Really good!" said Chowder. "Whiskey's our top scorer by, like, a lot. I think he hasn't had a game this semester without a point. Dex and Nursey seem to be working out better too. They don't argue on ice anymore. They're not Ransom and Holster but no one can replace Ransom and Holster."

Bitty stared down at his pie and frowned; he didn't want to think about a team without Ransom and Holster, but the next time he played in a game, they would be gone.

"That's good to hear. How's Tango doing? Is he catching on okay still?"

"Oh, yeah! He and Whiskey are playing really well together without you there. Not to say that they wouldn't be playing well if you were there. We all really miss you. It's not the same."

"I'll be back next year, Chowder," said Bitty. "It's just a semester. Like Lardo when she was in Kenya."

"I wasn't on the team then, but it sounded horrible," said Chowder. "What's it like being a reporter? Is it cool getting to talk to the players every day? What a locker room like in the NHL?"

"It smells even worse than ours," said Bitty, and Chowder crinkled his nose.

"I feel like that is not possible."

"It's possible," said Bitty. "You think our team is weird with traditions? There are boys on that team who literally never wash their jock because it's unlucky. Jack's worn the same hat all year long. It's got sweat stains on it. You can literally see the salt from his sweat lining the rim of the hat. It's disgusting."

"Yeah, that's pretty gross," said Chowder.

"Do you think we'll make the playoffs this year?"

"Yeah!" said Chowder, and Bitty laughed when Chowder took the salt shaker from the table and tossed a handful over his shoulder. "You coming to practice Thursday?"

Bitty looked at the pie in the oven. He was planning to get his segments done for Thursday after the Falconers' game Wednesday so he could go to Jack's, but he wouldn't even be home until one o'clock. Practice was at seven.

"No," said Bitty with a sigh. "Not this week. Next week, though, for sure."

"Oh," said Chowder. "Maybe you can come another day. I know you're not technically on the team right now, but practice always goes better when you're there."

"Thanks, Chowder," said Bitty. "I'll see what I can do."

 

***

 

On Thursday, Bitty dallied in the dressing room after practice to wait until the rest of the reporters left Jack alone, which seemed to take longer than normal. Jack scanned for Bitty frequently while he wrapped up and removed his skates, right foot first. Once alone, Bitty approached him. Jack smiled easily at the sight of him.

"Hey," said Jack. "I've got a meeting with George, but it shouldn't take too long. Do you just want to meet at my place?"

Bitty nodded. "Yeah, sure."

Jack took out his phone. "Let me text you my address. If you get there first you can just go inside. Wayne will probably sniff you for a while wondering who you are and why you're there, but he won't bark or bite you or anything. He's kind of a useless guard dog."

"I'll just wait for you if I get there first," said Bitty.

Bitty did arrive first, or at least he assumed he did. Jack's house was a forty-five minute drive south of the practice facility and when Bitty looked at it through the salty windshield of his truck, he had a hard time believing he'd actually pulled into the correct driveway. The number on the mailbox matched what Bitty had on his phone, and the size of the house and the accompanying yard befit someone of Jack's income, but it looked too happy and open to belong to someone like Jack.

He parked his truck in front of the rightmost of the two garage doors and took in what he could see of the house in front of him. A porch wrapped the perimeter of the house on the level above the garage, white rocking chairs sitting in pairs on each side. The house was painted a pale gray color, but each window and door had white trim. The door that led inside was painted seafoam green. Bitty was about to call Jack and ask if he'd come to the right place when the garage door to the left opened and Jack pulled into the driveway.

Bitty met Jack inside the garage. It was larger than Bitty thought an individual person could ever respectably need, but a pontoon boat on a trailer took up the majority of the space. Jack only had one car, which surprised Bitty. As Bitty approached, he could hear a gentle woofing coming from just inside the door. It wasn't alarming or threatening; it mostly sounded like a happy, anticipatory greeting.

"Wayne?" Bitty asked.

"Yeah, that's Wayne," said Jack. He opened the door and on the other side stood a brown and black Shar Pei, who looked up at Jack with adorable eyes and a squishy face lined with rolls of skin. He woofed again. Before Jack even entered the house, he knelt down and rubbed Wayne's ears with both of his hands, pressing his forehead against Wayne's, and then got up and walked inside.

Wayne immediately sniffed Bitty when Bitty stepped inside the mud room, Wayne's wet black nose pressing into the material of Bitty's jeans in the center of his thigh. Jack kicked off his shoes, so Bitty followed suit, and Wayne proceeded to sniff Bitty's shoes. "Wayne, stop it," said Jack, and Wayne did. Wayne followed close to Jack's side through the mud room and up a short flight of stairs to the main level of the house.

The stairs led up to the kitchen, and Bitty paused, pie in hand, to take in the sight before him. The main level had an open concept so he could see into the living room and the dining room to the left of it, a wall just separating the kitchen from what Bitty supposed was the foyer on the other side. The cabinetry in the kitchen was white, as were the countertops, but the seafoam green Bitty had seen on the door to the garage carried heavily here as well, paired with a pale blue in the backsplash in the kitchen. From the hardwood floor to the light gray couches, the entire house looked inviting and peaceful.

"Is that for me?" Jack asked once Bitty looked his fill. Bitty looked at the pie in his hands.

"Yes! I'm sorry; I'm being rude. This is my homemade cherry pie. My MooMaw's recipe. One slice of this and you'll never go back to eating that canned garbage they served at the restaurant." 

Jack smirked. "Okay. Should I put it in the fridge?"

"Yeah, but you should heat it up in the oven a bit before you eat it. Do not microwave it, that just ruins the whole thing."

"Noted," said Jack. He placed the pie inside the refrigerator. Bitty began to unbutton his coat as he wandered the kitchen. Jack had great appliances that looked barely used, which made sense since he traveled frequently and lived alone. The whole house had a feel of someone who had several beautiful things that he didn't know how to utilize, and it made Bitty wonder how long Jack had lived there.

Bitty put his coat on the back of one of the chairs on the island and sat down. Jack returned from around the corner and stood on the other side of the counter. It was still cold outside but they lucked out with a sunny day, and the window behind Jack's head caught a beam of sunlight, illuminating him with a pale yellow glow. Everything about Jack was different here; his posture was not so rigid, his shoulders settled and his neck long. His eyes drooped in a pleasant, content sort of manner. As he stood there he dipped his left hand down to pet Wayne as Wayne wandered by him on the way to the dog bed on the opposite side of the gray couch.

"You have a beautiful house, Jack," said Bitty.

"Thank you."

"How long have you been here?"

"About five years I think," said Jack with question in his tone. "Yeah, I got Wayne the same summer I moved in here, and I've had him five years." Bitty looked at Wayne, who'd plopped onto a large Falconers themed dog bed, the only part of the living room that looked out of place. Wayne placed his head on his paws and looked up at Jack and then Bitty before he closed his eyes.

"Five years, really?" Bitty asked.

"You sound surprised."

Bitty looked around a bit more and his eyes settled on the pale gray sectional that faced a fireplace and a mounted flat screen. The chimney casing was white, but the surrounding walls were the same pastel color of the water that lapped the shore just across the street. Bitty looked back at Jack, wearing a black zip-up and dark jeans, and had yet to remove his black beanie from his head. He looked out of place. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but this doesn't look like your house."

"What makes you say that?" Jack asked, and while he didn't look offended, his voice had a slight edge to it. Bitty felt his heart pick up pace in his chest.

"It's so bright and you're so…so…not."

"I love it here," said Jack. "I kept a lot of the colors from the previous owner and hired a decorator to match what they'd left behind. It's quiet. It's peaceful. It's the one place I don't have to hide."

"It's big too," said Bitty. "I think you could fit the whole team in this kitchen."

"I suppose so," said Jack with a shrug. "I've never had all of them over before. Tater's here a lot. He and I get along the best out of everyone. Not that I don't like everyone else, but Tater knows how to just be. The rest of the guys feel like they need to talk to me all the time."

"Should I stop talking to you?" Bitty asked, slightly afraid of Jack's answer.

"No, I like talking to you," said Jack. "You make me forget that you're a reporter."

Bitty frowned. "Technically I'm not a reporter. I'm just an intern."

"Still," said Jack with a shrug.

Bitty could see where this was going and didn't like that road, so he gestured over to Wayne, who'd fallen asleep on his bed. "So you said you've had Wayne five years now?"

"Yeah. Right after I got the C. Spent the whole summer training with him and brought him here just after I bought the place. Maggie — my neighbor — has been awesome. She came over the first day we moved in and fell in love with him right away, and she's insisted on watching him ever since. I keep trying to pay her and she keeps not cashing my checks."

"He's really good," said Bitty. "I can see why she fell in love with him right away. He sniffed my pants for twenty seconds and now he doesn't care that I'm here. One of my friends back home in Georgia had a dog that freaked out every time someone came over. She'd jump and bark and scratch until you distracted her enough to make her forget someone new was there."

"Yeah, he's really good at reading people. He knows that you're here because I wanted you here, so he's not going to bother you. That's one of his training things, knowing who I like and don't and taking his cue from me."

"His training things?" Bitty asked and Jack paused. When Bitty looked back at Wayne, he'd opened up his eyes and was watching the two of them from across the room. "What does that mean?"

"He's got some good training," said Jack, but Bitty could tell right away there was more to it than just good training. "I — okay, listen I really don't talk about this that much and I like to keep it quiet. He's technically a service dog."

"Oh, like one of those dogs that helps people cross the road and open doors or whatever?" Bitty asked.

"Sort of. I have some pretty bad anxiety and after…after what happened when I got drafted we agreed it probably made sense to try some other methods to fix it, and Wayne was one of those. I tried some other things first but when I got the C — I don't know why I'm talking about this."

"No, it's okay," said Bitty. "You had some anxiety problems and dogs are good for that. Does he do anything specific?"

"Yes," said Jack, and he didn't say anything further. Wayne stood up in his bed and shook himself out before he wandered over. Jack reached down to pet him. Bitty tried to think of something else, to change the subject again, but he couldn't think of something else that wasn't an obvious restart. Jack spoke again. "Listen, I don't want people knowing about that. People know I have Wayne but I just want to leave it at that. It's embarrassing that I have a service dog and —"

"No, I get it," said Bitty. "I'm not going to say anything. I'm not here to pry into your personal life."

Jack pursed his lips together, as if reluctant to speak again. When he did, his voice was quiet and cold. "Why are you here?"

"You just said I'm here because you wanted me here, Jack," said Bitty as non-judgmentally as he could, but it still came out of his mouth wrong.

Bitty could see Jack stiffen. Jack stood up straight and placed his hands on the counter, both balled into fists. "Savannah said she asked that you conduct all my posts instead of Jason. She was the one who suggested you do the ESPN interview. Did she ask you to get to know me?"

"No!" said Bitty. On the other side of the island, out of sight, Wayne began to whine. Jack gently kicked him away, but Wayne didn't go away. "Jack, you invited me to lunch. You invited me here. I thought we just got along well. I always interview you because my station has a standing request to interview you after each game and practice. That was there before I came along."

"You get way more questions than Jason ever did."

"Because you answer my questions!" said Bitty. "People like the way you answer my questions."

"I knew opening up to you was a mistake," muttered Jack before he looked down at Wayne, who was pawing at him. "Wayne, stop it, I know."

"Is that his thing?" Bitty asked before he could help it, and Jack sent him a sharp look.

"Are you going to report on this? Even though I asked you not to? Let everyone know Jack Zimmermann can't handle the stress of his captaincy so he has to have a service dog to make it through the season."

"No, that's not something I would do, Jack. I like you. I  _ thought _ you liked me."

"Well I don't," said Jack brusquely. "Not like that."

"Like what?" Bitty asked. All of the color, the red emotion that had grown into Jack's face as their conversation spiraled out of the control, drained from his skin. Wayne woofed at Jack.

"I'm done," said Jack. "I don't know why I asked you to come here. I knew it was a bad idea. You're a reporter. I can't tell you anything." Bitty opened his mouth to reply. "I think you should just leave."

Bitty was glad to go. He grabbed his coat off the back of the chair and headed straight to the door. In the reflection off the appliances, he could see Jack bolt to the couch and sit down, and as Bitty started down the stairs, Wayne jumped up onto the couch with him. Bitty stuffed his feet in his shoes and left, barely able to see where he was going as his eyes filled up. He blinked a few times, the heat of his tears a stark contrast to the biting cold of the air. He started his truck and peeled out of the driveway, silently crying the entire way home.


	7. Chapter 7

Bitty stared into the black, empty screen of his laptop. The computer had long since gone to sleep, and he could only see the reflection of his face due to the ring light that still illuminated him from its usual stand on the desk. It was after midnight and he was tired; he could feel it in his eyes. His elbows sat on the desk, his hands smushed his cheeks, his eyebrows tensed tightly together, but he couldn't bring himself to move. It was starting to hurt, both the pain of the wood on the knobby bone of his elbows and the pressure of the heels of his hands into his cheeks, but it didn't matter.

He had said everything wrong. He had done everything wrong. He never gave Jack a reason to trust him. 

He deserved this.

 

* * *

 

On Friday, Bitty's alarm went off at six-thirty. He groaned into his pillow underneath him and shut off the ringing from his phone. His bones felt heavier than usual, as if he'd gained the weight of another human being overnight. His eyes were sore and reluctant to open. It took all the rest of his effort to roll over onto his back and look at the white ceiling above him, but even then couldn't see the paint and the plaster — he could only see Jack Zimmermann, standing across the counter, accusing him of something that Bitty would never do.

It wasn't Jack's fault. Jack had spent twenty-five years as someone with reason to be leery of the media. Bitty was part of a group of people that dogged Jack as a child, compared him to his father when there was no comparison to be made. Bitty was part of a group of people that blew an accidental overdose of prescribed medication into a circus of accusation, painting a black mark on a child who had done nothing wrong. Bitty was part of a group that hounded Jack's professional career and refused to let him be a person who could make mistakes or have secrets. Jack had every right to distrust Bitty, and Bitty had yet to prove that he was deserving of that trust.

There wasn't a game that day and Fridays were generally the least viewed news days, so Bitty didn't feel bad about faking sick and calling in to work. Michael seemed disappointed but didn't ask questions, and Bitty knew Jason would jump at the opportunity to be useful. Bitty turned over in his bed and closed his eyes, but sleep was done with him. Instead he slid onto the floor, put on his practice clothes, and headed downstairs. During his bowl of cereal, Ransom and Holster filed in.

"Yo, B, you coming to practice with us?" said Ransom with a clap to Bitty's back. "I thought you'd still be down in PVD with Jack."

Holster wolf whistled with entirely too much pre-sunrise enthusiasm. Bitty shook his head.

"Guys, don't," said Bitty.

"You totes had a date with him, right? You made him a pie and everything."

"I told you he's not gay," said Bitty. "And it wasn't a date. And I don't want to talk about it." Ransom turned to Holster, and Bitty could see the chirps formulating between them. "I said I don't want to talk about it. Either drop it or I'm going back to bed."

"Geez, sorry, B," said Ransom. "Is everything okay? Why aren't you on the way to the station?"

Bitty dumped his bowl into the sink and proceeded to the foyer where he put his coat on over his practice shirt. He left the house without the rest of the team and as a result made it to Faber before anyone else. There was something soothing about pulling on his practice gear in the silence of an empty dressing room. The Samwell dressing room held a separate set of memories than the one Bitty walked into daily down in Providence; these memories were both good and bad. He remembered being a frog and constantly worrying that he'd be cut from the team. He remembered coming back after his first summer break and hugging his jersey to his chest before their first game because it meant he was still here, and still allowed to play, despite regressing to old tendencies over break. He remembered the last game before winter, where the boys and Lardo enveloped him in a hug and made him promise not to forget about them while he was away. He'd been able to join a handful of practices since January, but never anything consistent. The warm ups and drills were the same they'd been for years, but he wasn't allowed to scrimmage with the team since they were developing lines without him.

The team entered the dressing room as he began to lace up his skates. Chowder, who had not been downstairs by the time Bitty left, hopped over right away. "Bitty!" he said with enthusiasm, although his was more welcome than Holster's had been. "I didn't know you were coming today!"

"Yeah," said Bitty with a forced smile. "Took the day off from work. Thought it might be good to start the day off right."

"'Swawesome! Can we do some shooting drills?"

"Yeah, of course, Chowder," said Bitty.

Bitty received a hello from everyone one else on the team, most happy and surprised, some confused at his presence. "Dude," said Wicky when Bitty passed by his stall on his way to the ice, "if I had a full time job you know I wouldn't be waking up early on my day off to come skate with a bunch of nerds like us."

"And that's why we like Bitty more than you," said Holster.

"Bro, I'm pretty sure you love me," said Wicky, but Holster gagged in reply.

Bitty took a step onto the ice and felt the tension sink out of him. It took him hours to get to sleep, even long after he felt tired, because his thoughts wouldn't stop swimming in his brain: would he still have a job if Jack didn't trust him? Savannah liked Bitty because Jack liked Bitty, but if Jack complained even once, Bitty would be out of a job. He had spent hours thinking up a solution that meant he could still work at NBC 10 and thus still pass his TM and graduate on time. His life as a sports correspondent was over, but if news stayed within the sports circle, he still had a chance of making something of himself with his vlog. He hadn't updated on time, though, and it had been years since he failed to post a video by Thursday night.

None of that mattered, though, as Bitty listened to his blades cut through the ice underneath him. He skated in wide circles, building speed to turn and stop suddenly, kicking up a shower of snow onto the clean ice. He dumped the bucket of pucks out and scooped one up, juggling it back and forth toward the goal. He drew his stick back and slapped the ice with it, sending the puck sailing where it swished and clattered inside the net. He picked up another puck and sent it forward but missed. It banged loudly against the boards and the sound reverberated throughout Faber. If he and Jack had nothing else in common, this was it: they both loved the way hockey sounded.

The rest of the team filed onto the ice in a flurry of loud conversations, chirps, and shouts. They skated toward both ends, taking up their usual spots for opening laps. Bitty shot another puck into the net while the rest found their places, but just as Bitty's stick clapped down onto the ice, someone purposefully ran right into him, causing him to fall to his hands and knees.

Bitty's whole body began to shake. He stared at the white ice beneath him, at his shaking hands in his red Samwell mitts, and willed himself not to pass out. That was the last thing he needed after such a horrible night — to wake up in the morning and prove that he still couldn't handle the physicality of the sport, and that maybe he shouldn't come back at all.

"Bitty, I'm sorry, I forgot," said Dex, holding fast to Bitty's arms and attempting to pull him up. Bitty shook his head.

"No, it's fine," said Bitty, but his body wouldn't stand up. "I'm fine."

"The coaches aren't out here yet. Come on, get up and let's get in position. You can do it, Bitty."

"Just give me a minute, okay?"

"No, they're on their way. I don't want them to see you like this. Get up, Bitty."

Bitty closed his eyes but let Dex physically pick him up and reset him into a standing position. All of Bitty's extremities were shaking. He had balance, at least, and Dex pushing him toward the edge of the rink seemed to work. Dex turned him around and Bitty saw the concern on his face. Bitty frowned, willing himself not cry, but the tears threatened hard.

"I'm sorry," Bitty said. "This was a mistake. I should go home."

"No, Bitty, you're fine. Look, you're standing on your own. Look," said Dex. Bitty looked down; he still clutched his stick in his hands as if his life depended on it, but Dex was no longer holding him. "Just take a breath, figure it out. Cry if you need to, okay? But when Coach Hall tells us fifty laps, you give him fifty laps, and you beat the rest of us. Okay?"

"Okay," said Bitty. He tried to wipe at his eyes but his mitts were too big to get under his visor.

"You got this, Bits," said Dex. "We're still your team." Bitty nodded. Tears spilled out of both of his eyes. "You've got this."

"Okay," repeated Bitty. He said it again and again until it was true, and when Coach Hall blew his whistle, Bitty led the pack after half a rink.

 

***

 

Bitty spent the rest of the day moving between his bed and the kitchen; while pies cooked, he took a nap. When it was time to remove it from the oven, he did and then worked on another. By two o'clock he had six pies cooling on the counters and several hungry Hausmates willing to dig in. He set one aside for Michael, as a thank you for not asking questions when Bitty needed the day, but allowed the remainder to be devoured by the Samwell Men's Hockey team.

Bitty had just climbed the stairs for another nap when the text came through.

      **Jack**  
     I need to see you.  
  
**Jack**  
     Can you meet me at the Port Judith lighthouse at five?

Bitty stared at the text messages on his phone. The first thought that crossed his mind was  _ This is a terrible idea _ , but the part of him that wanted to keep his job made him consider it. However, after he googled the location of the lighthouse, he firmly decided against meeting Jack at such a remote location after they'd just had an argument.

**Bitty**  
     I don't think that's a good idea  
  
      **Jack**  
     Please? I just want to apologize to you.

Bitty furrowed his brows, frustrated that he was still considering this, and turned to Lardo's room.

"Lardo," Bitty said. Lardo was reading a textbook on her bed and had a slice of apple pie in her hand, which she clearly was just holding and taking bites of as she studied. Bitty decided against telling her to get a plate. "I'm going to the Port Judith lighthouse in Providence. If I don't return this evening, it's because Jack Zimmermann murdered me. I have evidence on my phone."

"Um…what?" Lardo asked.

"I just needed to tell someone." Bitty turned to leave.

"Wait, Bits!" yelled Lardo. "What the hell happened? Why do you think Jack Zimmermann is going to murder you?"

"He and I got into an argument yesterday and he says he wants to apologize, but he wants me to meet him at this lighthouse to do it."

"That is so not a good idea, Bits," said Lardo. "If he wants to apologize, he can do it over the phone."

"I'm still going," said Bitty. "Wish me luck."

"Bitty!" Lardo yelled, but Bitty was already out of the room and to the stairs. He assigned Chowder the duty of taking the last pie out of the oven when the timer went off, then bundled himself up extra warm and left the Haus.

It was a ninety minute drive to the Port Judith lighthouse. When Bitty arrived, the parking lot was empty apart from Jack's car. Jack was leaning against his door and staring out into the ocean, the wind whipping his hair and his coat. The sun had not set just yet, but it was on the way, and Bitty could see slabs of ice lining the shore as the waves of the ocean met the snow on the banks. When Bitty left his truck he could feel that the wind was cold but not freezing, and the extra layer he had put on before he left the house had done enough to keep him satisfied, at least while the sun was still up. He approached Jack, who continued to look at the sea until Bitty was close enough to hear.

"Thanks for coming," said Jack.

He didn't look at Bitty when he said it and instead continued to look out toward the water. It was the first time Bitty had seen him since their argument, when Jack stood in his bright and warm kitchen. He'd looked relaxed then, with his shoulders loose and his face unguarded. Bitty could now see the tension Jack carried in his shoulders; even his neck was rigid and stiff as if Jack had slept awkwardly on it the night before. It was possible, though, from the droop of Jack's eyes and the darkness circulating them, that he had not slept at all. Worse than all of that, Jack hunched into himself in an attempt to make his body as small as possible. Bitty wanted to hug him; his apprehension stopped him from trying.

"Why are we here, Jack?" Bitty asked.

"Come on." Jack walked toward the lighthouse so Bitty followed. Jack passed through an unlocked gate, opened the black door littered with NO TRESPASSING signs, and then began to climb the stairs. Bitty's heart began to pound in his chest before the physical exertion of climbing steps should have affected it; Jack looked sad, but not desperate enough to fling Bitty into the ocean.

They did not speak before they reached the top of the tower. Jack opened the door for Bitty, who stepped through onto the balcony. While not quite sunset, the light was already blinking, providing guidance for the boats Bitty could see in the distance. The wind up here bit worse than it did down in the parking lot, so Bitty pulled his coat closer to his body in an attempt to keep warm.

Jack sat down on the edge of the tower, his legs dangling over the side, his arms resting on the wrought iron rails as if he'd done this a thousand times. Bitty stood next to him apprehensively until Jack looked up. "Sit down," Jack said. Bitty did. From this vantage point between the rails, all he could see was ocean — large and small boats on the horizon, white caps of waves, and endless expanses of blue water meeting orange, yellow, and pink sky. It made Bitty feel incredibly small; just a short, skinny boy facing the greater glory of the Atlantic.

"Why are we here, Jack?" Bitty asked again, quietly.

Jack didn't look back at him.

"When I was a kid my dad would sometimes disappear for hours. It was normal for him not to be around, with having to travel so frequently for games, but this would happen when he should have been home. Sometimes he'd just get up and leave and I wouldn't know where he went or what he was doing. My mother never worried about it; she told me he just needed to be away for a while, and that he'd come back when he was done. The day before the draft he took me to a lake near our house in Montreal. He sat me down on the edge of the dock, our legs dangling over the sides like this, and he made me just look. I didn't know what I was looking for. It wasn't a busy lake so there were no boats. All I could see was the water and the trees and the geese. I didn't understand. Then my father turned to me and said, 'You are not important.'"

Bitty snorted and Jack smiled, although the expression didn't meet his eyes.

"Which is exactly how I reacted at the time. But he continued and said, 'There will be a day when you understand. There will be a day when you will find something you love more than hockey. Maybe it'll be a person. You'll get married and maybe it'll be your spouse, or maybe you'll have a kid. You will realize there is more in your life than what you do during the day.' He knew I couldn't see it then, and I couldn't understand it then, but he wanted me to know that. The most important thing he ever said to me was that I am not important. That when I get a big head, I need to find a place where I can remember how completely insignificant I am."

"And this is your place?" Bitty asked. Jack looked at Bitty and nodded.

"He told me there is more world out there than you could can ever see. When I'm up here I can see so far, but there's a point out there —" Jack pointed to a boat near the edge of the horizon "— where I can't see. As important as I think I am, as important as people make me believe that I am, I can't even see to the end of the horizon because I am just a tiny part of the world, and I don't matter."

"But you do, Jack," said Bitty, watching Jack as he looked out into the ocean. "You matter to me."

"And I still accused you of using me for a story," said Jack. "It's not always about me. I can't always assume the worst in people. You just wanted to get to know me and I threw it back in your face." Jack shook his head and looked back at Bitty. "You have to understand, Bittle. I don't know how to do anything other than hockey. I never went to college; I don't have a degree. This is all I can do. I worked so hard for so long to be the kind of person that people already expected me to be. I got everything I've always wanted, but I realized how easily it can be taken from me and I would be left with nothing. So there are things I need to hide.

"The questions about my OD stopped after a while but they still pop up every now and then. Not in the dressing room, not in any day-to-day talk during the season, but in the big interviews it always comes up. It's something that I don't want to talk about ever again but I'm going to have to talk about it for the rest of my life. That's not even what I'm scared of. That's not a secret. Everyone knows what happened and if they don't they can speculate all they want. I know the truth, I know what happened, and I've moved past it. But there are other things, Bittle, that people don't know, and I don't want people to know. And it frightens me every time someone puts a microphone in front of my face. I'm afraid that they're going to ask me about it. It would be nice if people could understand, but that's not the world we live in. So I have to be a hockey robot, I have to be that person that doesn't relate to anyone, because I'm afraid if they get to know me then it'll come out, and I'll lose everything I've worked so hard to achieve. I'm twenty-five years old. There are things I still want to do in my career. I'm not ready to lose it yet."

"Jack, there is nothing so horrible that would cause you to lose your career," said Bitty.

"Are you sure?" said Jack. "Because I can think of a few. And it's not Wayne. Yeah that's embarrassing, but if people found out about him I could deal. It's not that. It's — God, Bittle, I can't tell you, but you have to understand that I'm terrified of you and what you could do to me."

"Jack," Bitty whispered. "I'm not like that. I'm not here to turn you into a story."

"I don't understand why you're here, then," said Jack, and in that moment he looked as small as his voice sounded, like the tiny part of the world he told himself he needed to be.

"Because I like you," said Bitty. "I like your laugh and your smile and how you love your sport so much that you are willing to change who you are so you can keep playing it. I like that you have an Instagram devoted to your dog and when you talk about him your eyes do that thing —" Jack's eyes crinkled with fondness, and Bitty nodded. "That. You love him. It's true that I don't know you very well yet, but I want to. Everything I've seen so far has just left me wanting more. If you're afraid I'm going to turn you into a story, I'll walk away right now. Jason will take over for me and that'll be that. It'll just be a shame, Jack, because I'll miss you."

"I missed you today," said Jack. "I was sorry the moment you left the house. I thought I'd see you again today and I could apologize, but then you weren't there."

"I didn't know how you'd react," said Bitty. "I didn't want to make it worse."

"Please forgive me," said Jack. "I really, really hate Jason." 

Bitty laughed. "Okay, Jack. You're forgiven. Can we go now? It's freezing up here."

"Sure," said Jack.

Jack and Bitty untangled themselves from the railing and descended the stairs of the lighthouse back to the parking lot. On the way, Jack spoke up again: "I had some of your pie after you left."

"Yeah?" asked Bitty, looking over his shoulder at Jack. "How was it?"

"I get what you mean about the restaurant pie being terrible. If that's what pie is supposed to taste like, I have never had pie before."

"Yes, Jack, that is what pie is supposed to taste like," said Bitty. "I don't know how you've gone through your whole life thinking that was acceptable. Lord, I'm going to have to show you the whole world."

"I think that's a little too much at this point in the season," said Jack with a laugh. "Maybe just start with pie."

Bitty opened the door to the parking lot and the wind hit him again. He shivered, which caused Jack to laugh again. Bitty rounded on him, walking backward, the wind flopping his hair into his face. "Listen, you. I may have forgiven you but you still need to be nice to me. None of this chirping because I grew up in the South where wind was refreshing, not brutal. Wind isn't supposed to throw you into the ocean."

"Okay, Bittle," said Jack.

"Do you have to call me Bittle?" Bitty asked. "Everyone else calls me Bitty. Or Bits."

"Bits, eh?" Jack asked. "I like that."

Jack walked Bitty to his car and stood in the open door as Bitty started it and turned the heat on. "You should come over again," said Jack. "I promise I won't yell at you this time. I think Wayne liked you."

"He seems like a good dog," said Bitty. "I have this recipe for dog treats I have been dying to make but literally had no excuse to do so."

"Well now you do," said Jack. "See you tomorrow?"

Bitty nodded. "You going to win for me?" he asked.

"For you? Of course."

"See you later, Jack."

"Bye, Bits." Jack closed the door and waved one more time before Bitty pulled out of the parking lot and began the journey home.


	8. Chapter 8

"Do any of y'all have dogs? Or pets? I've never had one apart from the mostly dead goldfish you get at church carnivals. Coach is hella allergic to everything, which made it difficult for me to understand when I was little why we couldn't get a dog. I'm not allergic to dogs. I spent half my life at my best friend's house and  _ he  _ had a dog, so why couldn't we have one? I eventually made my peace with it but believe you me, as soon as I have my own place, I'm getting myself that English Bulldog and it's going to be adorable. Y'all are going to die from how adorable it will be.

"If you have dogs, or I suppose cats or whatever, I have some awesome and easy recipes to show you today. I bought this silicone paw print ice tray online a year ago and I have been looking for a reason to use it ever since." Bitty held up a purple ice tray with sixteen paw-shaped slots. "Isn't this the cutest thing you've ever seen? We're going to fill the bottoms with peanut butter and yogurt and top it with fresh chicken stock. I made soup yesterday and so I have fresh stock. I don't expect you to make your own chicken stock."

Bitty gestured behind him at the ingredients he'd taken out for the video, including the leftover chicken stock from the soup that was already completely devoured by the other members of the Samwell Men's Hockey team. Behind the ingredients Bitty noticed that snow had begun to fall outside the window. 

"These yogurt stock cubes are perfect for summer. I'm going to request that you ignore the fact that there's snow outside right now because nothing will stop me from using this tray for the first time."

A few hours later Bitty had a bin full of bone-shaped biscuits, small round crackers, and a tray full of frozen yogurt and chicken broth paw prints. "Look at how these turned out!" Bitty said, directing his camera across the array of treats. It was entirely too much food for one dog, even if spread out over the course of several weeks. "I honestly feel like baking for animals is more rewarding than for people sometimes. As you can see here — this is the evidence of the soup I made yesterday." Bitty zoomed in on the large, empty stock pot that sat dirty in the sink, absolutely nothing left in it apart from dried parsley stuck to the bottom. "And not even a thank you! If you give a dog a bone, you know they're going to love it, and you know they're going to love you. There's nothing more wonderful than that. I'll give y'all an update on how these were received the next time we chat."

Bitty zoomed in one more time on the ice cubes. "OH MY GOD SO CUTE."

 

* * *

 

Although Bitty still saw Jack daily at the arena (unless the Falconers traveled for away games), they were not able to talk apart from a few words after posts. It was March and the end of the regular season was fast approaching; the Falconers teetered on the edge of clinching their division, but all signs pointed to another run in the playoffs. Jack was desperate for a division title and spoke about it frequently when they began to discuss the end of the season:

"We're hungry for it," Jack told Bitty during a post-game interview after the second home game in March. "We beat Jersey twice this week. We're at the top of the division today. We just have to stay there. Seventeen more games to go."

Bitty tried not to let that bother him. There were only seventeen games left in the season, and the next morning would mark exactly one month until the final game. Bitty felt like he had just started; he had a rhythm he followed on game days, on off days, on travel days. He didn't need to work sixty hours to both interview players and edit his segments. He knew by the start of the third period who he needed to request for posts. Michael frequently compliment his edits and, before the beginning of the game, Bitty was allowed to stand outside the arena and introduce his post-practice segment live on the seven o'clock news.

After press was over, Jack flagged Bitty down before Bitty could leave. "We're off Sunday," Jack said. "Like actually off all day. I think this is the last one of the season. Do you have to work?"

Bitty shook his head. "No. I can get my segments done Saturday. If y'all aren't here I don't have to be here either."

"You should come over. It's supposed to be nice."

_ Nice _ was a relative term. It was finally warming up, the temperature rising to the upper fifties. The snow from winter had all melted but yards were still muddy. When Bitty arrived at Jack's house on Sunday morning, Jack's yard looked mostly green and dry, but the leftover mud from the rain during the week still lined where his property met the street.

Bitty had more treats than Wayne should realistically eat, but he had a hundred recipes in his collection and no other dogs to make treats for. Bitty balanced the ziploc bags and tupperware containers up the back stairs and made it all the way into the kitchen without having a single one fall from the tower that reached his face.

"Oh wow," said Jack. "You didn't need to make his entire weight."

"Shut up," said Bitty. He carefully set the containers on the counter and then turned to Wayne, who was peeking at Bitty from behind Jack's legs. Wayne looked interested in what Bitty had brought, but at the same time seemed wary of Bitty altogether. Bitty looked at Jack. "Can I give him one?"

"Yeah," said Jack. Bitty had difficulty picking which one was the best to start. He settled on the bone shaped cookies. He knelt down and held it out for Wayne, who looked at Jack for approval. "Go ahead, silly."

Wayne barreled forward and skidded to a halt in front of Bitty, snatching the treat out of Bitty's hand without catching any of his fingers. He allowed Bitty to pet him as he chewed, but whenever Bitty attempted to rub his soft head instead of his bristly body, Wayne moved forward so Bitty's hands were scratching just in front of his tail. After two attempts to get to his head and being ushered to the tail again, Bitty looked up at Jack.

"Yeah, he does that," said Jack. "He always wants the butt scratch."

"You're sweet," whispered Bitty to Wayne, who looked back at Bitty with his droopy face as Bitty scratched his butt for him. When Wayne had had enough, Bitty stood up and unzipped his fleece. "So, Jack, can I see the rest of your house? As beautiful as your kitchen is, and as much as I'm itching to bake in here, I would like to see the rest of it."

"Sure," said Jack.

The pale blue motif carried through the rest of the house. Jack showed Bitty the second floor first, from the spare bedroom he'd converted into a weight room, then to his office, and then the actual guest room with a view of the sea. Everything had the too-neat feel of someone who employed a maid, which Bitty would have done for the Haus if he could afford it. Jack's master bedroom was a thing of beauty, and Bitty sighed with jealousy when they walked inside. Jack had a California King sized bed with white linens and a pastel blue headboard. It looked soft and fluffy and Bitty wanted to roll around in it, but that was incredibly inappropriate, so Bitty headed across the room to a pair of casement windows that overlooked the bedroom's balcony and faced the water. Without permission, Bitty opened both of them. A gentle breeze brushed his face, wafting in the salty smell of the ocean. Bitty closed his eyes and inhaled; there were many reasons why he wanted to leave Georgia for college, and while Samwell ticked most of the requirements on Bitty's list, there was a reason he picked the Northeast over the Midwest or other schools with equally impressive journalism programs. None of the other schools he considered had this — the opportunity to look at a view this majestic, even if it wasn't his.

"Jack, this place is beautiful," Bitty said, looking over his shoulder. Jack stepped up beside him and looked out the window as well.

"When I decided to buy a house I was looking at a few different locations. This one was the furthest from the arena, but none of the others had this view. I'm usually up with the sun anyway, and there's nothing like waking up in my bed and seeing this in front of me."

Bitty stood there and watched, just for another minute, before he closed both windows. "Okay, it's still too cold for that," he said. "Show me the rest."

Jack led Bitty out of the room and to the stairs again. On the way, Bitty noticed several large prints of black-and-white photos that stood out in contrast to the pale aesthetic of the rest of the house. Each seemed to represent a different part of Jack's life; there was the Point Judith lighthouse, a skate in mid-snow shower, and one of the brick building murals in Montreal. Bitty could see more descending the stairs as well but couldn't make them out from his vantage point.

"Where'd you get these?" Bitty asked, tapping the snow shower with his finger.

"Oh," said Jack. "I took these."

"What?" Bitty asked, pausing to reexamine the three in front of him. "You took these photos?"

"Yeah," said Jack with a shrug.

"Jack, these are amazing! Why aren't they on your Instagram?" Bitty paused. "Not that I've scrolled through your entire Instagram."

"Thanks," said Jack. "I think I just like having Wayne on there. He's my favorite subject." Jack gestured toward the stairs. Bitty couldn't believe he missed them on the way up, but the three photos lining the stairs were of Wayne: laying in a flower patch in front of Jack's house; asleep with his face smushed onto his paws; and Bitty's favorite, standing on a trail in a forest with a cardinal sitting on his back, oblivious to it.

"Aww," said Bitty.

"Come on. I want to show you the best room."

Bitty followed Jack to a bright sunroom on the first floor, where Jack sat with Wayne at his feet. Bitty looked through each picture window, showing the vast front yard and the sea behind it, but Bitty could also see to the other houses in Jack's neighborhood. There weren't many other neighbors, each property providing the same amount of acreage, and it was easy to feel secluded here. In addition there was a set of French doors in this room that led to the wrap around porch.

"How often do you go out on the porch?" Bitty asked, turning back to Jack, who was rubbing Wayne behind the ears.

"As much as I can. I go home to Montreal in the summer most years, so I'm not here for the best weather, and it can get difficult during the season to make time for it. If it's nice out and still daylight, I'll try to eat dinner out there. It never gets old."

"Why do you go to Montreal so much?" Bitty asked. He sat down on the other couch and Wayne left Jack to join Bitty. Wayne plopped his head on Bitty's lap, and Bitty took advantage of the chance to pet his soft head.

"It's beautiful here," said Jack, looking out the window to the front yard, "but it's not home. I miss home. The boys all have their thing that they do over summer. They have families or friends or things that they do. I just have me. Tater's the only other one who doesn't have a family so he comes over a lot if I'm home, but the summer gets long and lonely down here."

"You should find something," said Bitty. "Something that you do every summer. You're not the only single guy in the league, but there's plenty to do. Sidney Crosby has that hockey school."

Jack snorted. "Yeah but that's his thing. I don't want another reason to be compared to Sidney Crosby."

"Do you not like him?" Bitty asked.

"He's fine. I knew him better when we were younger, since he lived with my Uncle Mario. He's on a rival team, though. It's like with Parse — well, not exactly like with Parse -- but Sid and I aren't as close as people want us to be."

"Well you'll find your something. Your hobby or your family."

"That would be nice," said Jack, leaning back on his couch and looking at Bitty. "I'm glad you're here though. Wayne's good company but he doesn't talk back."

Bitty looked over Jack in his everyday clothes, a Falconers T-shirt and black running shorts. He was sprawled out on his couch, hugging one of the pillows to his chest, leaning his head against the armrest and watching Bitty and Wayne with large, blue eyes. Jack was so beautiful there, and as Bitty continued to look, the sight just made Bitty feel pathetic, because in that moment Bitty loved him. And it sucked.

 

***

 

It was dark by the time Bitty returned home. He and Jack spent a lazy day together, cooking lunch and dinner together when they got hungry, but spent the in between time laying on couches, watching Wayne lumber around the front yard, or flipping through the television and settling on a marathon of Bar Rescue that they somehow watched for six hours, drifting in and out of sleep.

He opened the door to his room in the Haus and threw his keys onto the floor when he found Ransom, Holster, Ollie, and Wicky all packed inside with the Hockey Shit whiteboard taking residence in front of Bitty's UGA banner.

"What the hell?" Bitty exclaimed. "How many times do I have to tell you, you cannot use my camera for your stupid Hockey Shits!"

"Bitty," started Ransom, taking a step toward Bitty. Bitty put both of his hands up.

"No! Do you know how many times they've tried to fire me already? I need this job to graduate. I literally cannot graduate unless I have a completed TM and I cannot complete a TM if I'm fired because two idiots are using my work camera for personal use. Why do you not understand this? If you need a high quality camera you can use my vlog camera."

"Bits, you don't get it," said Holster. He slung an arm around Bitty's shoulders and Bitty groaned. "It's just two months until graduation. This is our legacy. Who is going to impart this knowledge on the frogs when we're gone? Ollie and Wicky? Those bros are boring as fuck."

"Harsh, bro," said Ollie. "We're literally standing right here."

"Shut up, Wicky," said Ransom.

"I'm Ollie!" said Ollie.

"Bro, for real?" Ransom asked. Ollie nodded.

"My point, Bitty," continued Holster, "is that we need to record as many of these as possible. The higher the quality, the longer they will survive us. You have this professional grade device just hanging out in your room, not being used. Just let us use it. We'll delete the files after we transfer them. No one will know."

Bitty sighed.

"One. One Hockey Shit. I can't risk any more than that. And get out of my room, there are better places to do this than here."

"Bitty, have I told you that you're my favorite?" Ransom asked.

"No, because that is the opposite of the truth," said Bitty. "Get out of my room. I'm going to bed."

Ollie and Wicky picked up the equipment and carried it out of the room. Ransom and Holster group-hugged Bitty as a thank you. Bitty groaned in response. "Why are you making Ollie and Wicky do the heavy lifting? Tell me you're not considering them for dibs over Dex and Nursey."

"Dex and Nursey will murder each other if we give them the attic," said Ransom, "and that shit's already haunted hardcore. The attic is a chill place for bros who are never apart. Ollie and Wicky have that in spades."

"And plus? Free labor," said Holster.

"You guys can stop hugging me now," said Bitty.

"Nah, bro, let it ride itself out," said Ransom.

Bitty let it ride; it felt nice after all.

 

***

 

The next morning Bitty woke with the rest of the Samwell Men's Hockey team and headed to practice at Faber. The Falconers were travelling to Buffalo for their game, so he didn't need to be at the station until Jason had footage to give him, and that wouldn't be for several hours. Bitty skated with the team during the usual warm ups and drills, but when it came time for scrimmage, he headed to the bench to sit the remainder of practice with Lardo.

"Bittle, can you stay in?" Murray asked when Bitty approached the bench. "I need another forward on the second line today. Tangredi's laid up with the flu."

"Sure, Coach," said Bitty. Lardo tossed Bitty a red overlay for his jersey to distinguish him from the opposing team and Bitty headed toward center ice. The first thing he noticed was that Ransom and Holster were not on his team, and that was not a situation he ran into very often. Just that realization caused everything to feel wrong, but he shook the feeling off as best he could.

It happened almost immediately. Bitty received the puck after the faceoff and headed toward Chowder, but Holster was in his face in an instant. Bitty kept his head down, attempting to spin out of the way to avoid him. Ransom and Holster knew how to handle him during practice, to get in his way and prevent a score without actually checking him, but when Bitty ducked between Holster and the glass, Holster checked him hard. Bitty felt every second of his body colliding with the boards. He fell backward, sliding onto the ice without much pain, but gray filled his sight and in moments he'd blacked out.

"Bitty? Bitty, wake up!" said Holster.

He was lying facedown on the ice. It was hard to tell how long he'd been out, but when he turned his head and looked up, Ransom, Holster, and Coach Murray were looking over him. "Ugh, I'm sorry," said Bitty. He carefully sat up.

"No, I'm sorry," said Holster. "I didn't know it was you. You're not supposed to be scrimmaging with us."

"Murray asked if I could stay…" said Bitty. It was still hard to focus, but he could see the disappointment on Coach Murray's face. "I'm sorry, Coach. I'm not used to scrimmaging. I just need to get in it more."

"You're on reduced participation right now, Bittle," said Coach Murray. "Having you at practice is a liability and if you get injured, or need medical attention —"

"I don't need medical attention!" said Bitty. "I'm fine!"

"— It's not a risk we can take. I can't have you at practice anymore. Not this semester."

Bitty took in a deep, rattled breath, but he nodded.

"Poindexter. Nurse. Make sure he gets home okay," said Murray, and then he skated away. Dex and Nursey approached, but Holster helped Bitty stand.

"Bits, I'm sorry," Holster said. "I'm so sorry. If I'd known it was you, I wouldn't have checked you like that. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," said Bitty. "I knew it was risky coming to practice at all. I'll be back next year." Bitty set his jaw and looked forward. "I'll be back next year."

Dex and Nursey changed into street clothes too and walked with Bitty out of Faber. Bitty was quiet, looking at the sidewalk instead of at the boys on either side of him, trying to process what had just happened. Before they even made it across the street, Dex pushed Nursey into the road.

"Dude, seriously," said Dex. "Not everything is chill. They just fucking kicked him out of practice."

Bitty grimaced; he didn't want to deal with Dex and Nursey's bickering, and definitely did not want to deal with them bickering over him. Nursey stepped in front of Bitty to push Dex into the grass, and Bitty had to stop walking so he wouldn't get checked onto pavement.

"Boys!" Bitty said exasperatedly after Dex shoved his elbow into Nursey's stomach. "Can you not? I just want to go home. Can we walk there in peace?"

"Sorry Bitty," said Dex.

"Yeah, sorry, Bitty," echoed Nursey.

Dex and Nursey flanked Bitty on either side the rest of the walk home, everyone completely silent. When they reached the Haus, Bitty headed straight upstairs to his room. He shut his door behind him, climbed back into bed, cuddled Senor Bunny close to him, and closed his eyes.

He was awoken an hour later when his phone vibrated loudly against the windowsill next to him. When he looked at it, it was a text from Jack with a picture of Wayne fast asleep, sprawled belly-up in a beam of sunlight on the hardwood floor of Jack's living room.

      **Jack**  
     Guess who doesn't care that I'm leaving

Bitty smiled at the picture, but something about Jack's text just made him feel worse than he already did. He wanted to see Jack. If he couldn't practice anymore, if there was nothing left connecting him to his school and his Haus, he needed Jack to anchor him to the other side.

      **Bitty**  
     Did you leave yet?  
  
      **Jack**  
     No. Headed out in 20.

Bitty hesitated, his finger hovering over the call icon, but then pressed it and held the phone to his ear. Jack picked up on the first ring.

"What's up?" Jack asked.

Bitty immediately started crying.

"Whoa, Bits, what's wrong? What happened?"

"I'm sorry," said Bitty, his voice raw and distorted from emotion. "I just didn't know who else to talk to. Nobody else would understand."

"Tell me," Jack said.

"I have a problem with checking. Before I came to Samwell I wasn't in a league that allowed checking, but as soon as I got here it became a huge deal. I don't know how I've made it this far on the team without getting kicked off. I spent all of my frog year on fourth line and I got better, and last year they moved me up to second line when I learned how to avoid it, but it's still a problem. The team tries to hide it from our coaches if it happens in practice, but it's happened in games and I can't stop it and I don't know why it keeps happening. Checking is part of the game. And I love this game, Jack, I really do, but I don't know if they're going to let me back on the team next year. They said… they said that I can't come to practice anymore. I'm a liability. What am I going to do if I can't play again?"

Bitty placed a hand over his mouth to hold in his sob and he could hear the responding sigh from Jack on the other end of the line. "Do you want me to come over?" Jack asked.

"No, Jack, you have to go to Buffalo."

"Do you need me there?" Jack repeated.

"No," said Bitty, firmly. "No, I just need you to talk me through this. Tell me I'm going to be okay."

"I can't tell you what I don't know," said Jack, and Bitty's face contorted as he tried not to break down further. "But I can help you. You're right; checking is part of the game. It's a big part of the game. I don't know what the rules are at the college level, but if you can't take a check, it's going to seriously affect your ability to play. When I get back from Buffalo I want you to stay after practice. Bring your skates."

"What?" Bitty asked.

"We're going to work on this. We'll work on this every day if we need to. By the end of the season you'll be able to take a check. You might not be able to check someone else, but I can fix you shutting down if someone checks you."

"Jack," said Bitty, "that's too much. You don't have time —"

"Bitty," said Jack. "Just say thank you."

"Thank you, Jack."

"You're welcome, Bits."

The following day after Bitty finished his post-practice interviews with the team, he handed off his microphone to Ian and said, "I'm going to stick around a bit longer. I'll see you back at the station."

"You going to have time to make your segment for primetime?" Ian asked.

"Yes. See you later."

After he changed into his practice clothes, Bitty had to wait outside the dressing room for the rest of the team to leave for the day, his gear bag slung over his shoulder. Ten minutes later Jack poked his head out of the door and gestured for Bitty to come inside. To Bitty's surprise, Tater was also still in his pads. "Oh!" said Bitty. "Tater! Hi!"

"Hello, B," said Tater with a warm smile.

"I hope you don't mind," said Jack. "I want to see what happens when you get checked and it's harder to do when I'm the one checking. Tater's willing to help out."

"Sure," said Bitty nervously. "Um…no offense, though, but I've seen you hit, Tater. Can you maybe not hit me like that?"

"I hit you just little bit to start," said Tater.

"Okay," said Bitty.

"Did you bring pads?" Jack asked. Bitty shook his head; he didn't want Lardo to know he was doing this. He didn't want anyone on the team to know he was doing this. Jack fetched a set of practice pads for Bitty to wear. Bitty held back his delighted scream at the chance to wear actual NHL practice gear and calmly laced up in the stall next to Jack. Jack, who had removed his skates, began to put them back on as Bitty dressed. There was something oddly familiar about it, sitting to Jack's right, taping his socks into place above the shin guard, while Jack pulled a fresh set of laces into his right skate first. They did this in silence, Tater waiting patiently for them on the other side of the logo, poorly attempting to juggle rolls of tape.

"Ready?" Jack asked. Bitty tied a bow on his left skate and stood.

"Sure," Bitty replied, then he followed the two of them to the ramp and onto the ice.

Team practices were usually open to the public. The practice facility was only occupied by the Falconers for a few hours a couple of days a week and the rest of the time it was reserved for youth hockey leagues, so people were constantly coming and going. There was no one left in the stands now that practice had ended, but Bitty could see into the lobby and people still lingered there. It was intimidating to skate around with Jack and Tater, knowing what was coming, and even worse to do it in a building that wasn't completely empty.

"Ready?" Jack asked. He stood about twenty feet away from Bitty. Bitty looked at Tater, who nodded. Bitty nodded, swallowing hard, and started skating toward the end of the rink. He could feel Tater looming, and just when Tater's shadow appeared next to him on the ice, Bitty crouched and put his hands over his face.

"Wait! No, no, stop!"

"Did not touch you, B," said Tater. Bitty took in a deep breath; Tater's voice sounded very far away and Bitty did not want to pass out on an official ice rink in front of professional hockey players before anything had happened. He breathed a few times and then stood up. Just as he did, Tater pushed him into the boards.

"WHOA!" Bitty yelled. He fell to the ice, his entire body shaking, more angry than terrified. "Whoa, I said to stop it!"

"And then you got up," said Tater. "Was just gentle check."

Bitty couldn't stop the trembling in his limbs. Jack skated over and knelt down beside him, his gaze tender. "You okay?" Jack asked. "You're not as bad as I thought you would be."

"That's because I haven't passed out yet," said Bitty. "Just you wait."

"Come on, get up," said Jack. With Jack's support, Bitty stood on his skates again. Jack got out of the way, and then Tater slammed him right back into the boards.

"WHOA!" said Bitty again after he fell onto the ice for a second time.

"Was medium check," said Tater. "You still alive."

When Bitty sat up, he realized that he was. His limbs still shaking, his heart still pumping, he'd just taken two checks from one of the hardest hitting defenders in the league, and he was still alive.


	9. Chapter 9

"Hi y'all! You may be a little confused by the location, but the Falconers are in the playoffs and I finally get to travel, so you're in my hotel room in Pittsburgh!" 

During the last week of the regular season, Savannah requested a meeting with both Michael and Bitty. With Bitty's internship officially over, she demanded he join the Falconers on the road. By nine o'clock the next morning, Jason Davis had been laid off and Bitty had a new contract extending to the end of the playoffs, which he refused to sign until he received a pay raise. An amendment with an increase in pay was on his desk by noon, and after he signed, Bitty was given a plane ticket to Pittsburgh for the first series.

Bitty spun around in his chair in his hotel room. It had been raining since he arrived, but he refused to let that diminish his excitement for being on the road for the first time. "Tomorrow's the first game of round one. I'll hopefully be on the road for the next few weeks, so apologies in advance if I'm a little behind on posting. And super apologies for being pasty pale — I didn't bring any lighting with me and the options in the room are deplorable." Bitty spun again to pick up three bags of multi-colored chips and a Tupperware container filled with small calzones.

"I'll include links to the recipes for these in the description box as usual, and sorry again for not actually showing you the process to make them — life on the road is tough, y'all," Bitty said with a frown, now feeling guilty for being unable to deliver the quality he usually held himself to when making his weekly video. "We've got some great stuff here, though, so if you're about to embark on a road trip, keep a few of these guys in mind. Especially these —" Bitty tossed most of the samples onto the bed and kept hold of a bag of banana chips.

"These are banana chips, but if you know me at all you know I did not just throw some bananas in the oven and call it a day. This is my favorite blend; cayenne pepper, curry powder, and paprika make these spicy, but not too spicy, and really add a kick to your regular boring bananas. I seriously could eat these all day. I may or may not have had five of these bags when I left Boston this morning." Bitty glanced at the half-full bag of banana chips. "This might be my last bag. And they might be gone by the end of this video."

Bitty ate four banana chips before forcing himself to move on, but before he could pick up the next one, there was a knock on his door. He looked at the time; he'd just checked in so it couldn't possibly be housekeeping, and too much time had passed for it to be someone returning a bag if he'd left it behind. He glanced at the camera for just a moment before he walked to the door and peeped through the hole.

Jack waited on the other side. Now even more confused, Bitty unlocked and opened the door. "Jack?" he asked. "What're you doing here?"

"I heard a rumor you were coming on the road with us," said Jack, a playful smile on his lips. "Had to make sure it was true."

"Did you charm the front desk to find out what room I'm in?" Bitty asked, and Jack just shrugged his shoulders before he entered the room. Jack kicked off his shoes and hopped onto the center of Bitty's bed. His eyes immediately went to the several bags of snacks littering the side nearest the window and before Bitty could protest, he'd opened one and began popping sweet potato chips in his mouth. "Mmmph," he said while chewing. Bitty placed his hands on his hips and Jack swallowed. "Bittle, these are amazing. Did you make them?"

"Yes," said Bitty.

"Do you know your camera's on?" Jack asked, pointing at the camera that was still recording.

"Yes," repeated Bitty. "I was in the middle of a vlog when you rudely interrupted me and started eating my snacks."

Jack tensed immediately. "I'm sorry. Do you want me to leave?" he asked.

"No!" said Bitty quickly. "That's not what I meant at all. I was just teasing! I really am recording a vlog, though, so you can have some of those but don't eat them all." Jack grabbed a handful out of the bag and sealed it up while Bitty turned off the camera. Jack rummaged through the rest of the bags and picked up two of the containers from the stack on the desk.

"You know we're going back to Providence for game three, right?" Jack asked. "You didn't need to bring enough food to last you until the finals."

"If you're just going to chirp me this whole time, maybe you should leave," said Bitty, but he sat down on the bed with Jack and opened up the container of zucchini muffins. "Eat one of these." Jack removed the paper cup around the muffin and ate half of it in one bite. His eyes closed and he moaned, causing Bitty to smile.

"Oh my God," he said. "These are amazing."

"Don't let the boys know I have these. I do want to keep some for myself."

"Yeah right, like I'm going to tell anyone you have food," said Jack. He finished the rest of the muffin in his second bite. "I thought you weren't allowed to travel?"

"Technically my contract ended with the season," said Bitty, "but Savannah essentially said that either I come on the road instead of Jason or nobody does."

"Yeah, that sounds like her," said Jack.

"I'm just happy to be here, honestly. I know this isn't your first rodeo, Jack, but did you ever imagine that you'd actually be in the Stanley Cup playoffs? That you would be captain of a team that could make it here? That's crazy. Think about how many people who've ever actually done that. In the grand scheme of things, it's not many."

Jack had pulled one of Bitty's pillows off the bed and snuggled up to it; his gaze grew distant as he began to think.

"Honestly?" Jack asked, and he looked back up at Bitty. Bitty nodded. "There was a time in my life when I would have said yes, for sure. Any of those months leading up to the draft, me and Kenny, we planned out the whole rest of our lives. Not only did it include the playoffs, but it included each of us winning the Stanley Cup before we were twenty and playing in every final against each other. I don't think we ever envisioned a scenario where one of us wasn't winning." Jack frowned. "I'm not like that anymore. I'm just lucky I'm here, that they let me still play when I show up."

"But you're arguably the best player in the league, Jack," said Bitty. Jack looked up at him before resting his head on the pillow again.

"Thanks, Bits," said Jack.

"I'm the one who's lucky to be here. I should be in West Virginia reporting on the latest cow tips and hiding my sexuality for fear of pitchfork wielding farmers and their flaming torches of bigotry. I don't know how I convinced my advisor to let me apply for this, and I'm even more confused on how I convinced Michael and Peter to hire me. I got lucky with people liking my vlog. I got lucky with the Travel Channel thinking I was cool enough to host a summer special. I got super lucky interviewing Sidney Crosby at that festival in high school because I'm still convinced that's the only reason why anyone considered me for this job."

"You interviewed Sid in high school?" Jack asked.

"Yeah," said Bitty, and as he thought about that moment, a fondness crossed his face that caused Jack to groan and roll over.

"Ugh, don't tell me you're one of those people who thinks he's attractive," said Jack. Bitty laughed at Jack's scrunched nose and severe frown.

"I mean he's got a nice ass," said Bitty.

"It's not even that nice!" said Jack, sitting up. "It's just freakishly large. Have you seen his nose? You can fit a quarter up that thing."

"Okay, Jack," laughed Bitty, "if Sidney Crosby isn't cute, who is?" Jack gestured to himself and Bitty rolled his eyes. "Oh Lord, Jack, you  _ know _ that you're attractive. Let's not even go there. I think Sidney Crosby is cute and I know I'm not alone in that, but if I'm not allowed to like him, who am I allowed to like?"

"I don't know," said Jack, shoving the pillow back in with the others at the top of the bed. Bitty raised his eyebrows as Jack began to pummel it into place. "Alex Wennberg isn't bad."

"Alex Wennberg?" Bitty asked.

"He plays for CBJ."

Bitty pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked up Alexander Wennberg. Jack looked at Bitty expectantly, but Bitty just shrugged his shoulders. "Really?" Jack asked. "But look at him!"

"I'm looking at him," said Bitty. "I don't see it. He's so skinny."

"Well, sort of, yeah, but it's a good skinny."

"I guess he's just not my type," said Bitty with a shrug. Jack lay down on top of the pillow he had pummeled to death while Bitty continued scrolling through pictures of Alexander Wennberg from the Columbus Blue Jackets; he was in his uniform in most of them, but every picture Bitty saw of him out of the uniform was unattractive. He had a nice face, and nice blue eyes, but overall was too skinny. Bitty crinkled his nose and put his phone down. When he looked over at Jack, Jack was looking tentatively back up at him. "What?" Bitty asked.

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?" Bitty asked.

"Just be yourself like that. Like it's so easy. You never told me before that you're...gay?" Jack raised his voice in question and Bitty nodded to confirm.

"I'm not sure what I'm doing," said Bitty. "I've been out since my frog year at Samwell and it's something that comes naturally to me now. I'm not in Georgia anymore. I know the NHL isn't the most inviting of places, but no one's paying attention to me here."

"That's not true," said Jack and he resumed hitting the pillow. Bitty could see the familiar sadness Jack carried with him, how he unnecessarily distracted himself, the way that he kept avoiding Bitty's eyes.

"You don't have to hide anything from me, Jack," Bitty said, his voice low. "I know what my day job is, but it's just a job. You are so much more important to me." Jack took in a deep breath and lay down on the bed, looking at the ceiling instead of at Bitty.

"Tater's the only one I've told," said Jack. "Nobody else knows."

"Do your parents know?" Bitty asked.

"Besides them," said Jack. "They knew first." Jack looked to Bitty for the first time since the tone of their conversation turned; he had splotches of red in his cheeks. "Do your parents know?" Jack asked. Bitty shook his head.

"They're in Georgia," said Bitty. "No one in Georgia knows. It's a different world down there. I'm a different person down there than I am up here. Whenever I go home it's like I'm stepping back in time."

"My parents knew first but I never actually told them. They kind of walked in on it. It was really awkward."

"Ugh, I could imagine," said Bitty, scrunching his nose at the sound his mother would make after walking in on him in a compromising position at all, much less in a compromising position with another boy. "Do you think you're ever going to tell anyone else? Like, publicly?"

"I don't know," said Jack. "It's hard enough talking about it at all, but the culture is changing. There's no way I could have come out publicly back when I first started with the Falcs, but in the past few years I've felt the shift in the way people talk about it. I think there could be a player who's out in the league now. I just don't know if I could be the first." Jack sat up and ruffled his hair; Bitty determinedly did not look at Jack's hand as it flowed through his dark locks. "I can't think about that right now. I think first I just need to worry about winning this game. And you —" Jack turned to Bitty. "— need to stop thinking about Sidney Crosby so much. You're on my side."

"All I said was he has a nice butt!" said Bitty, his hands up in defense. "You blew all of the rest of it out of proportion!"

"His butt is out of proportion," Jack muttered as he stood up. "I should go. I'll see you after?"

"I think I have a quick hit with you after the first," said Bitty. He grabbed his notebook and opened it. "Yeah. After the first."

"Good," said Jack. "I never know what to say in quick hits." 

"You always have something to say, though," said Bitty.

"Yeah but with you I never worry about what'll come out of my mouth," said Jack. "Talking to you is easy." Bitty smiled and felt his cheeks turning red in his embarrassment. "See you then, Bits."

"Thanks for stopping by, Jack. Come back later if you want another muffin."

"I will," said Jack. "Maybe tomorrow." Bitty watched him leave. As soon as the door clicked shut, Bitty stuffed his face into the pillow Jack had occupied and inhaled. He held onto the pillow until it was time to leave.

 

***

 

The Falconers lost the first game by a single goal scored late in the third. The atmosphere in the dressing room was potent, more potent than the smell, and Bitty could tell walking in that Jack had just finished some kind of pep talk that didn't land well. No one looked at each other. The only chatter came from reporters. Jack sat in his stall, violently jamming rolls of stick tape into his gear bag. Savannah wasn't present but Bitty knew exactly what she would say if she were: Bitty needed to make him smile. Bitty was fully prepared to do that.

As usual, Bitty opted not to ask the first question. Jack sat with his shoulders rolled forward and a scowl so severe Bitty wondered if it hurt to frown that much. Jack listened to the first question from Vanessa, and then gave his best media reply:

"No, it's not how we wanted the playoffs to begin, but the Pens are a formidable team. We knew coming in here, with them having the advantage, that we're playing against the odds. We're going to keep looking forward, though. There's still another game here but then two back home. We've always done well at home against the Pens."

"How are you going to break through their defense? Schultz and Maatta were on top of you all night," said Aaron from Root Sports.

"They've got some great d-men on their side, but we're familiar enough with them. I've had them on top of me all season. I know what deodorant they use by now."

"So how do you shake things up when you've got a face full of sick chest flow?" Bitty asked. Jack glanced over at him and the smile Bitty had been waiting for crept onto his thick, pink lips.

"Sick chest flow?" Jack echoed. "Really?"

"How do you plan to shake it up?" Bitty repeated, keeping his face as professional as it could be with Jack smiling at him, looking up at him with big, blue eyes underneath the visor of his crusty Falconers hat. Jack's gaze did infuriating things to Bitty's insides, things that were not appropriate when pressed up against several other correspondents. Jack continued to look at Bitty as he answered, which did not help Bitty's physical situation.

"We know how to play this team," said Jack. "We've played them five times this year. It's less about shaking it up and more about understanding their strengths and weaknesses. Their puck handling isn't as good as ours. They've got a rookie goalie they're relying too heavily on. Their PK needs work. They have their weapons, and their weapons are legendary, but it's not enough to carry them seven games against this group. We're leaps and bounds from where we were even last year, and yeah we have room to improve too, but there's something here that wasn't there in years past. We've made it to the playoffs before but it's never felt like this. This team is ready to win."

Fifteen minutes later, after a follow-up interview with Marty, who scored the only goal for the Falconers, Bitty stepped back over to Jack. "See you tomorrow?" Bitty asked. Jack smiled.

"Yep. I'll stop by again. Can you maybe make me more of those muffins when we get home? Is that rude to ask?"

"Of course not," said Bitty. "After what you and Tater have been doing for me lately? With the checking clinics? You both deserve a hundred muffins."

"I saw how many snacks you made for Wayne. Let's just stick to a dozen, okay?"

"I guess," said Bitty. Jack took off his hat and placed it on the shelf in his stall, and then proceeded to take off his undershirt. Bitty took a step back, wondering if he should leave, but before he could turn toward the exit, Jack spoke again:

"How's it going? With the checking?" Jack asked.

Bitty frowned. "I haven't been allowed back at practice and since the playoffs are over already, that's it for the season. We'll have to wait until next year."

"How'd you guys do in the playoffs?"

"Just shy of the Frozen Four again. Seems like we're always getting stuck there. Every year I keep thinking we're good enough to make it this time, but then it just falls apart. Sucks when there's not a best of series. Y'all can still bounce back from this. Y'all will bounce back from this. For us it's one and done, and when Whiskey takes a puck to the boot and I'm not on the roster this semester, it's hard to get used to lines that you don't play in regularly."

"You've still got next year," said Jack, "and if we take the summer and hammer this out, you'll be a force to reckon with when school starts again."

"I hope so," said Bitty.

"I know so," said Jack, nodding to someone behind Bitty. Bitty turned to look over his shoulder but wasn't quick enough; Tater slammed him right into Jack, causing Bitty's face to fall right into Jack's bare, sweaty chest. He wanted to be disgusted, because Jack was more slimy than anything else, but he was also solid, and Bitty's face was touching his skin.

"Ugh!" said Bitty although he didn't mean it. "Tater!"

"See?" said Tater. "Reckonable force!"

"Thanks, Tater," said Bitty. He sat down and wiped his face with an unused Gatorade towel while Jack just laughed.

 

***

 

The day after game two, Bitty's flight from Pittsburgh to Boston was delayed due to heavy rain, meaning that he didn't actually step foot inside the Haus until seven o'clock after a full day of travel. Sandy had to edit his segments for air and Bitty hadn't seen a single one of them. It had been an exhausting, pointless day, since a car ride from Pittsburgh would have taken less time. He dropped his duffel bag onto the floor and plopped face-first onto his bed, ready just to go to sleep, when sudden shouting from across the hallway forced his eyes back open.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE GIVING DIBS TO NURSEY?"

Bitty groaned. Dex's voice was at full freak-out mode and if experience had taught Bitty anything, it was that Dex would not calm down on his own, and Bitty would be subjected to listening to his shouting instead of sleeping. Bitty pulled himself out of his bed and shuffled across the hall to stand in the doorway of Lardo's room.

Dex and Nursey were standing in the middle of the room shoving each other while Lardo watched disinterestedly from her bed.

"Boys," said Bitty. "What is going on?"

Dex turned first. "Lardo just said she was going to give Nursey her dibs. Nursey! Who fixed the dryer when it couldn't do more than a pair of socks? Who keeps Betsy running when she really just needs to go to the junkyard? Who fixed the drafty window in the den? Me! What the hell has Nursey done all year apart from getting in my way?"

"Yo, Nursey has totes helped me with my English papers this year," said Lardo. "I've been putting that shit off for long as I can because I'm a painter. I don't do words. I would not be graduating without him."

"Yeah, but…" said Dex, quickly losing steam. "But you wouldn't have dry clothes or warm food if it weren't for me. Bitty, tell her she wouldn't even have clean clothes!"

"Lards, what's going on? I thought you were going to try to get Wicky?" Bitty asked.

"I was," said Lardo and she threw her sketchbook in frustration, "but Ransom and Holster already gave them dibs last week! Dex, Nursey, I'm not getting backed into a corner on this. We'll do this the way I got mine — full team lottery."

"No!" said Nursey. For the first time in their friendship, Bitty could visibly see Nursey losing his chill. "You were going to give them to me! Poindexter just interrupted the handshake!"

"Because you don't deserve them!" yelled Dex.

"Boys, stop fighting," said Bitty, but just as he said it, Nursey pushed Dex and Dex pushed back, instigating a full-on slap fight that both looked and sounded ridiculous. "BOYS!" yelled Bitty, and both paused mid-slap to look to the doorway. "What did I just say? Stop fighting about this."

"Sorry Bitty," said Dex and Nursey in unison. They dropped their hands.

"Make a decision right now," said Bitty. Lardo raised her pencil as if to begin speaking, but Bitty shook his head. "No, not you, Lardo. William. Derek. Lardo wasn't going to pick either of you. From what I've seen here today, neither of you deserve this room. So either calmly and rationally come to a decision about whose it will be, or it will be neither of yours."

Dex looked at Nursey. Nursey looked back at Dex. 

"Share it?" asked Nursey.

"And see your gross face every day? No thanks, man," replied Dex.

"Poindexter. I'm not backing down on this and I know you won't either. So we share it or neither of us get it." 

Dex sighed, but then he shook Nursey's hand.

"Seriously?" asked Bitty. "That's your decision? I have to listen to you two squabble right across the hall for a full year?"

"Oh, man, we've got to tell C!" said Nursey. "He's going to be so stoked!"

Both of them ran down the hall to Chowder's room, where within seconds excited yelling filled the Haus. Bitty groaned and looked at Lardo.

"You're lucky you're graduating," said Bitty. He turned around, closed his door, pulled his blanket over his head, and fell asleep.

The next morning, Bitty received a phone call as he was getting ready. He didn't need to leave for the Falconers' practice for another hour, but the sight of a phone call from Coach Murray filled his entire body with dread, and he wondered if he could use work as an excuse not to pick up. His manners got the better of him and he answered.

"Hello?" Bitty asked.

"Bittle," said Coach Murray, and at least he didn't sound angry. "Do you have a couple of minutes today to come by the office? Hall and I want to chat with you."

Bitty could feel the tears rushing to his eyes before Coach Murray even finished speaking. The awards banquet was coming up that weekend and Bitty couldn't attend due to his playoff coverage. He'd informed both coaches of this when he signed his new contract, so this conversation was about something else. He knew what that something was, and he didn't want this day to be the day he was finally cut from the team.

"I've got to leave in an hour," said Bitty, "and then I'm at work the rest of the day. Is this something we can do over the phone?"

"We'd rather speak in person," said Coach Murray and Bitty gripped the edge of his desk to stop his hand from shaking. "It should only take a minute. Do you have time now? We're both here."

"Sure," said Bitty, because he realistically didn't have a reason not to. "On my way."

Coach Murray met him at the door to Faber and walked with him back to the office. Bitty smiled politely at him and answered his small talk as generally as he could. "It's been a tough start," said Bitty, "but they're at home for the next two, so hopefully that'll help. Jack seems to think they just need the home ice to get them back on track. He's really confident for someone who's wrong a lot."

Coach Hall waited for them in the office and stood when Bitty entered. Bitty sat down in the chair in front of them, a familiar feeling filling him at the sight of both the coaches on the other side of the desk. He'd been in this situation before, twice now, where they sat him down and told him to shape up or ship out.

"So as you know the banquet is coming up this weekend," said Coach Hall. Bitty nodded. "I know you've got the game so you can't attend, which is a shame. We always like to get the whole team together one last time before the end of the year."

Bitty relaxed, just a bit, because he seemed to be included in that  _ team _ .

"Yeah," said Bitty, his voice much smaller than usual, "I wish I could be there."

"Hey," said Coach Hall with a smile, "if I had the chance to cover a playoff game, I'd miss the banquet too. I get NBC 10 where I live — it's always exciting to see you on the news. I don't think I'm used to it yet."

"Me neither," said Bitty.

"We know you've got to get down there, so we'll keep this short. You're aware that the team votes for the new captain at the banquet," said Coach Murray. Bitty nodded. "We didn't get a vote from you."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I —"

"It doesn't matter," interrupted Coach Murray. "The team voted. Unanimously."

"Oh, for who?" Bitty asked.

"For you, Bittle," said Coach Hall.

Bitty gripped the sides of his chair so he wouldn't topple out of it and onto the floor. He felt tears formulate in both of his eyes and blinked furiously to prevent them from tipping over. While Coach Hall still kept the gentle smile on his face, Coach Murray continued to look his usual daunting self.

"Listen," said Coach Murray. "I see why the team voted this way. You'll be a senior. People naturally gravitate toward you. The team respects you and looks to you both for leadership and guidance. We won't go against the team's wishes and say they need to pick someone else, but I'm still not convinced that you have it in you to be successful on this team."

"You still have a problem with physicality," said Coach Hall. "You know that. We know that. Just because you're the captain doesn't mean that you'll be first line. We need to see improvement and dedication from you. Otherwise we'll be where we've been for years — stuck in the regional semifinals without a chance to go further. We have the team to go further. You need to show them that whatever this is that  prevents you from taking a check isn't something that will hold you back going into senior year."

"Yes, sir," said Bitty. He opened his mouth to mention the checking clinics with Jack and Tater, but decided against it. He wasn't sure how to say it without name dropping both of them. "I'm working on it. Since I haven't been at practice, I've been working on it."

"I hope so," said Coach Murray. "We can't have new recruits coming in and seeing their captain passed out at center ice."

"No, we can't," said Bitty.

"Don't tell the team," said Coach Hall. "We'll inform them at the banquet. We wanted to make sure you knew first. Congratulations."

"Thank you, Coach Murray. Coach Hall."

"Tell Jack we said to kick ass," said Coach Hall.

"Will do," said Bitty, forcing a smile on his face. He left the office, jogged down the hall, and burst into tears once he made it outside.


	10. Chapter 10

Bitty sat in the empty kitchen in front of his camera, frowning. He'd moved most of the boxes out of frame but instead on the counters behind him, they sat in stacks in front of him. There were three total stacks, one for each of the seniors, and Bitty's eyes flickered back and forth between  _ Duan _ ,  _ Oluransi, _ and  _ Birkholtz _ . He'd packed one extra box each for them filled with everything they needed to make a good start of it in their new apartments — the most common dried spices, staples like flour and sugar, various types of pasta and jars of homemade tomato sauce, peanut butter and jam, coffee, dried fruits, and lots and lots of snacks — a project that Bitty was able to complete since he didn't have to study for finals.

It was sad to sit in the quiet Haus and look at the boxes, knowing that each represented three friends who wouldn't return in the fall. Bitty looked up to his camera and sighed before he began.

"Hey y'all," he said with as much enthusiasm he could muster. "Today's one of those days when you stop and reflect about all of the things you've done since you moved into this phase in your life, and wonder what would be different if you changed just one thing. Back when I was a frog, before my first game, I seriously considered quitting hockey. I wasn't good, not college-level good at least, and even though I had this whole team supporting me, I really felt like I wasn't cut out for it. I'm here on scholarship but I had enough money saved from my channel that I could still pay for college without hockey.

"I was serious. I was going to do it. I remember after practice when I fainted  _ again _ , I showered and changed back into my street clothes and just kind of dawdled behind, waiting for everyone else to leave so I could tell the coaches I was quitting. Neither of them would have been surprised. Everyone from the team left except Ransom and Holster. They were fighting about something in their stalls next to me and just wouldn't leave. I remember getting really frustrated because I didn't want them to see me talking to the coaches. I wanted to quit and disappear, never talk to anyone again, but there was no way I could do that with them hollering right next to me.

"Then they finally started to leave, but Holster put his arm around me and took me with him. Holster's almost a foot taller than me, so when someone like that grabs you around the shoulders, you just go with it. They were still talking to each other but Holster had this grip on me, tight, like he was afraid I was going to run away if he let go. And, honestly, I might have. If he let go of me at any moment during that walk from Faber to the Haus, I would have bolted and never came back. When we got to the Haus, Ransom sat me down in the kitchen, looked me in the eye, and he told me, 'Bro. I'm really glad you're on our team.' And I lost the strength to leave."

Bitty looked at Ransom and Holster's boxes and regretted not putting anything extra special inside of them.

"And I wonder how different my life would be, how different I would be, if they hadn't had that fight, or if I hadn't cared that they were there and just talked to the coaches anyway. I wonder if I would have found people I cared about just as much, or if I would have given up on Samwell altogether and gone home to Georgia." Bitty continued to stare at the boxes and his eyes filled up; there was a lot of darkness down that path.

"But I didn't," he said, putting on a smile, "and there's no regret there. I love this sport and I love these boys. There is one thing I do regret, though, and it's that I have three seniors graduating that I've babied for years without allowing them to learn how to fend for themselves in the kitchen. So today's video is going to be dedicated to skills you should learn before you move out on your own and don't have someone like yours truly here to make your meals for you."

Bitty repositioned the camera to point at the stove, where he had a frying pan, butter, and eggs. He turned on the burner then looked at the lens. "First thing's first: eggs. If you've got no money and no time, eggs are one of the best ways to make yourself something quick and warm, especially if you're sick of eating peanut butter and jelly all day. I'll show you how to fry an egg, boil an egg, and, best of all, make a simple omelet. Get this down and you're set."

Holster wandered into the room, sniffing the air like a dog, after Bitty finished explaining the difference between over-easy and over-medium. "Yo," Holster said. "You making breakfast for me?"

Bitty looked at the camera. "See what I mean? He's never going to survive in the wild."

He set a plate with several types of eggs in front of Holster before he resumed filming.

 

* * *

 

Despite falling to Pittsburgh in the first two games, the Falconers swept the next four to advance onto the second round. The second round against the Washington Capitals didn't go as smoothly, but Jack's goal in double overtime in game seven advanced them to the Eastern Conference Final, a place the Falconers had never been before. The first game of the series against Ottawa occurred at home and ended with a win. The day after, Bitty woke up to rustling near his closet door. He opened his eyes and sat up, causing Ransom and Holster to freeze mid-crouch, Ransom holding onto the station's camera with wide eyes.

"Really?" Bitty asked. He looked at the time. "You graduate in three hours. What could you possibly need my camera for right now?"

"Because we graduate in three hours!" said Holster. "We need to tape our formal goodbye!"

Bitty looked at them; they were both in their underwear. Holster wore his blue and white striped tank-top (or did it belong to Ransom? Bitty had seen them both wear it), but Ransom was bare-chested. They clearly had just woken up and decided a covert camera-stealing operation was necessary to start their final day at Samwell.

Bitty wiped at his eyes.

"Don't you dare," said Ransom. "Holtzy and I agreed no tears and if you start, I'll start, then Holster will start, and today will be a disaster."

Bitty nodded, but the tears were streaming out of his eyes.

"Take it," said Bitty. "Just…be careful, okay? Don't delete anything; I'm not done transferring."

"Bitty," said Holster. "You rock."

Ransom and Holster left with the camera and tripod. Bitty climbed out of the bed and stared wistfully across the hallway at Lardo's door. It was cracked open, just slightly, but the room was dark. Bitty crossed the hall and knocked politely on the door before pushing it further open.

"Lardo?" he asked. "You up?"

"Yeah," she said groggily. The light from the hallway spilled into her room; the sun was up too but Lardo's curtains blocked it from illuminating the room. Bitty could see her figure underneath her thick covers, but couldn't see her face.

"Can I join you for a bit?" he asked.

"If you can find room, brah," said Shitty's voice. Bitty's eyes narrowed and Shitty sat up, shirtless and possibly naked, peering through the light on his face at Bitty.

"Shitty, what are you doing?" Bitty asked.

"Bruh, I've been sleeping in this bed for three years now."

"Huh," said Bitty. He could make out Lardo's face now that Shitty had exposed the two of them; she looked exhausted and hungover; it didn't surprise Bitty. She, Ransom, and Holster had been out late after they kissed the ice. Bitty hadn't been able to attend and from the looks of it, none of the seniors had made it back unscathed. Most of all, though, she looked pleased.

"Come on in, Bits," she said. "Join the party."

She held back the covers; there really wasn't much room with all three of them packed into the super twin, but both he and Lardo were small. Lardo wrapped him up in her arms when he cuddled close to her.

They lay in the bed, drifting in and out of sleep, holding onto each other and not speaking, until the alarm on Lardo's phone began to ring. Bitty, being the closest to the desk, turned it off and then returned back to his position inside of Lardo's arms. He rested his head close to hers on her pillow. "Do you have to get up?" Bitty asked quietly.

"Yeah," said Lardo. "Gotta get in the shower. Get ready."

"What if I'm not ready?" Bitty asked.

"Bits," said Lardo, and the heaviness of her voice caused Bitty to tear up for the second time that morning. "I won't be far."

"Anywhere that isn't right here is too far away," said Bitty.

"Bruh," said Shitty. "Not to intrude or anything, because I know you're having a moment and all, but she's literally walking distance from where you've been this entire year."

"I'm not going to be in Providence next year," said Bitty. "I'm going to be here. I'll have no reason to go down there."

"You honestly think they're not going to try to keep you?" Lardo asked. "Not even part-time? Bro, you're their main hockey guy. You're on the news, like, every day. You're going to Ottawa on Monday. Something tells me we'll see a lot of each other next year."

"Maybe. I doubt Michael will want to deal with me next season."

"And even if he doesn't," continued Lardo, "there's a certain someone you've been seeing a lot of lately who would always be happy for you to visit."

"All right," said Bitty, and he climbed out of the bed. "I think it's time to get up now."

"No, Bits, come back!" said Lardo, reaching out for him. "Give me one more hug, bro." Bitty looked at Lardo, and then at Shitty behind her, and both of them were gesturing for him to return. Bitty sighed and relented, and they snuggled for ten more minutes before Ransom and Holster burst through the door, carrying Bitty's work camera. All five of them plus the camera ended up in the bed until it made an awful creaking noise and they collectively decided it was actually time to get up.

The graduation ceremony itself was fairly boring. Bitty sat with Shitty and Lardo's family in the stands at the football stadium, cheering when Ransom, Holster, and Lardo each walked the stage. For the rest of the ceremony Shitty talked too much and asked too many questions.

"What's this shit about you and Jack Zimmermann?" Shitty asked entirely too loudly; they were packed into the stands, everyone forced onto one side of the field in order to be able to see, which brought Bitty into close proximity with several local students. Bitty noticed a few side glances from people he didn't know, so he lowered his voice and leaned in.

"Shitty," he whispered. "We're friends. That's all it is."

"Why are you even friends?" Shitty asked. "Last thing Lardo told me was he's going to throw you off a lighthouse into the ocean, and today you and him are best buds?"

"That was a misunderstanding," said Bitty. "He's easy to misunderstand." 

Shitty snorted. "The guy's a fucking robot. What's there to misunderstand?" he asked.

"He's not," said Bitty with a frown. "He's just quiet. You'd like him, Shitty. You and Lardo both. He does photography. He loves his dog. He's a good person."

"Sure," said Shitty.

"When is Lardo moving down there? After the season's over we can all hang out." Shitty stared at Bitty, wide-eyed, as if Bitty had just suggested they commit a felony. "I'm serious!" Bitty continued. "Something tells me he just needs more people to talk to. People who aren't in the NHL bubble. People who are normal."

"And you think me and Lardo are the best representation of what is normal?"

Bitty laughed. "He'd still like you."

After the ceremony, Bitty gave a teary hug to Ransom and Holster, who were ready to set off together into their new apartment in Boston. Their peace with the Haus had been made that morning as they recorded their final Hockey Shit about the place they had lived for three years, completing their montage with a zoom-in of Shitty, Lardo, and Bitty on Lardo's bed.

"Bro," said Ransom, and he was crying as much as Bitty. "Bro, you will make the best captain this team has ever had."

"Bro," echoed Holster with a nod.

"Who would ever thought our little frog would have come this far? We're proud of you."

"Stop it," said Bitty. He covered his face with his hands before Ransom and Holster group hugged him. Then, just like that, they were gone, and Bitty was walking back to the Haus with Shitty and Lardo to collect the rest of Lardo's possessions.

The room had been almost completely packed already, save for the bedding. Dex and Nursey had stacked their boxes in piles along the walls, clearly marked so Lardo wouldn't take them with her. Shitty and Bitty helped carry the rest of Lardo's stuff down to the Duan family car, parked on the street in front of the Haus. An hour later everything was ready, the room was bare, and Bitty found himself crying again as Lardo picked up her backpack and turned to him.

"Seriously, Bits," she said. "I'm not far away and I'm moving in today. If you need a place to crash after your next home game, come by." Bitty nodded, wiping at his eyes and looking away from her, not prepared for her to be any farther away than this.

"I have something for you," Lardo said.

"What?" asked Bitty. She opened the closet door and took out a canvas that had been carefully hidden behind some of Dex's boxes. She turned it around and held it out to Bitty, who gasped; he'd seen her lay the foundation for it months ago, but never thought it was something for him. It was the cove of the lake near his house in Madison, set at dusk, depicting a young man watching a young woman swing on a rope over the water.

"Remember this day in Madison? The lake was wicked beautiful," Lardo said.

Bitty frowned. "Yes," he whispered. "I wanted to stay all day but my mom kept texting me, asking me when we'd be home."

"That's because she thought I was your girlfriend and we were out having sex," said Lardo.

"She STILL thinks you're my girlfriend," said Bitty.

"You ever going to tell her?" Lardo asked.

"Maybe," said Bitty. He took the painting from her, looking over the careful brush strokes of the lake and the trees, the way both of their reflections blurred in the movement of the water. Their faces and bodies weren't distinct, but it was clearly them, and Bitty remembered how Lardo swung on the rope that day. It was the third of July and ridiculously hot. The lake was packed but Lardo dragged Bitty through the woods along the shore until they found this spot, a place neither of them knew was there and more than likely was part of private property. They stayed until the bugs got bad, Suzanne calling and texting for status updates every thirty minutes. When they finally went home for dinner, Suzanne was considerably more cold to Lardo than she had been that morning, and Bitty didn't know why until he crawled into Lardo's bed in the guest room that night, the door wide open, and Lardo told him he probably shouldn't do that. When he had asked why, she simply said, "Because your mom thinks we're dating, idiot."

Looking at Lardo there in the Haus, not wanting her to leave, Bitty wished for the shortest of seconds that it could just be that easy. Then, he shook his head and brought the painting into his room.

"Lardo, where should I put it?"

Lardo followed him into the room and pointed at the wall at the foot of his bed that, until recently, was where he hung one of his several Beyonce posters until he accidentally ripped it when trying to untangle himself from his sheets one morning. Bitty held the painting up to the wall and there was just enough space.

"Perfect," he said. "I'll hang it up later." He rested the painting on the bed and turned to Lardo, where he enveloped her in a hug. "I'll miss you, girl."

Lardo's arms held him tightly back. "You too, Bitty. I'll text you later."

They stayed like that as long as they could, then Lardo turned and left without another word. Bitty stayed in his room, his hand over his mouth, as he listened to Lardo's footsteps down the stairs, through the foyer, and out the front door. When the door closed, he was alone.

The Haus was silent.

 

***

 

Per club rules, a player was able to be mic'd up just once per playoff series, and Jack was already booked for each round. Jason had put in a mic request for Jack way back in November but had been denied, so Bitty took it upon himself to ask Savannah again. When he entered Savannah's office with a wicker basket full of blueberry scones, her eyes lit up and half of one had been devoured before she paused and looked at Bitty.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"What makes you think I want something?" Bitty asked sweetly. "I had all afternoon to myself yesterday and thought 'today is a great day for scones.'"

"Eric," said Savannah. Bitty's smile cracked.

"I want to put a mic on Jack today."

"Eric," said Savannah again, but she took another bite of her scone and sat back in her chair, "you know that Root Sports has a mic on him during game three and you are well aware I need more notice than this."

"Yeah," said Bitty with a shrug, "but this is my mic. Local mic. Helping out the local guy with his local news programming. Did I tell you that the farmer's market near school is starting next week? I never get to go because I'm usually back in Georgia by now, but I've heard amazing things."

Savannah finished her scone, stared at Bitty, and then nodded.

"I want marmalade AND cinnamon butter."

"You're the best, Savannah," said Bitty and he headed to the door.

"Eric, I probably would have given it to you with just the scones. I probably would have given it to you without the scones. You do good work," said Savannah, and Bitty looked back at her. "Keep in contact with me next year. If your heart is set on field reporting then I don't want to sway you from it, but if you're interested in PR…keep in touch."

"Thank you, Savannah," said Bitty. Savannah nodded and took another scone.

A half hour later Bitty stood in front of Jack, who was even taller with his skates on, and attempted to feed a microphone cord through his jersey. Jack had been confused as soon as Bitty appeared with the pack in his hand.

"I thought I was getting mic'd next game?" he asked while Bitty continued to struggle with the cord. Jack's jersey had very little flexibility with the giant Falconers logo in the front. Bitty looked up at him and that was a mistake; they were very close together. Bitty could see the curve of his chin, the fullness of his lips, the slant of his nose, and his beautiful bright eyes. Bitty looked back at the cord, which was lost inside the jersey now. He attempted to pull it out only to discover it had gotten stuck to Jack's padding.

"Dammit," Bitty muttered. He glanced back up at Jack, who was waiting for a reply. "Yes, you're getting mic'd next game too. Savannah was very nice to me and agreed to let me have you today." Bitty paused. "I mean mic you. She was very nice and agreed to let me mic you this game."

"Sure," said Jack, chuckling softly. "Are you okay down there?"

"Shut up, your padding has a lot of parts and you are abnormally tall with your skates on," said Bitty.

"Do you want me to sit down?"

"No, I found it," said Bitty. His hand was completely underneath Jack's jersey, groping around his padding for the microphone clip. He'd gotten hold of Jack's chest several times in his search, and each time a thrill of desire pulsed through his body. He finally caught the clip, extracted it, and decided to approach this from a different angle. He clipped the microphone to the front of Jack's jersey and dropped the pack down the neck. It dangled out the bottom and Bitty was able to secure it from there. He turned it on before he stepped back and nodded.

"So let me guess," said Jack, and Bitty could hear the chirp in his voice already, "you've never done this before?"

"Shut up!" said Bitty, but he was smiling. "You know I've never done this before!"

"No I don't, you could have done it with Tater or Snowy or someone."

"No, Jack, you're the first," said Bitty.

"Am I?" Jack asked. Bitty looked back up at him; Jack's gaze was tender. Bitty nodded.

"Yeah," he whispered and then took a step away from Jack. "We should test this out. Ian? Can you hear us okay?"

Ian stood on the other side of the room with headphones on. He had been staring at the pair of them with a scandalized look on his face, but Bitty wasn't sure why. "Ian?" he repeated, purposefully keeping his voice low so it wouldn't carry across the room. "Can you hear me okay?"

"Yes," called Ian.

"All right. Jack, are you going to be good and give me something to work with here?" Bitty asked. Jack smiled.

"I got your back," said Jack, and he clapped Bitty on the back for emphasis. Bitty laughed before he said goodbye to Jack, who returned to the dressing room. Ian handed Bitty a second pair of headphones when he approached.

"I'm assuming you'll want to wear these during the game?" Ian asked. Bitty nodded. "I'll be down at the ice getting footage. I'll keep close to Jack when I can. Text me if you see something from up there."

Bitty returned to the press box alone. While the other reporters he'd grown familiar with over the course of the year were there, he sat by himself in his usual spot, listening hard for ambient sounds from Jack's microphone. There was just mild chatter from the other players, then the voice of the coach, and finally, Jack spoke up.

"Boys," he said. "We're starting this off right. We win tonight, we've got the momentum we need to go all the way. Focus tonight. Focus on just these sixty minutes. Keep an eye on each other. Keep possession, cause turnovers, shoot the puck. You see an opening, you take it. You ready?"

"READY CAP!" shouted the team.

"WHO ARE THE FALCS?" Jack yelled.

"WE ARE THE FALCS!" shouted the team.

"WE'VE GOT THIS!"

Bitty placed his hand over his heart and kept it there as the lights dimmed on the ice. Within moments the first player skated onto the ice, and Bitty kept an eye out for Jack, but he was always last. When Bitty saw him, he lowered his hand and listened hard, hearing the roar of the crowd like Jack did. It made Bitty miss playing.

Hearing the game from Jack's point of view was terrifying. While Tater and Jack had met with Bitty a few times now, giving Bitty lessons on how not to pass out after a hit, the result of a real NHL check was difficult to hear. The game was physical, as if Ottawa had an agenda against every player, and each had a personal agenda against Jack. Not even ten minutes into the first period Bitty had heard the slam and rustle of Jack's body against the boards five times. He heard Jack curse in French as he fell onto the ice, heard dirty threats from other players as it happened.

Then, thirty seconds until the buzzer in the first period, Bitty watched Jack take the puck from behind his own blue line all the way down toward the goal. No one from Ottawa was on him, each Senator hindered by a Falconer, and it was just Jack and the goalie. Bitty could feel it as if he was the one on the breakaway; the excitement from the crowd, the sound of Jack's blades clacking on the ice, nothing but one final line of defense in between him and a goal. Bitty listened hard, heard Jack inhale sharply in as his stick lifted, saw Jack change direction and then, just at the last moment, tap it in behind the goalie.

"YES!" Jack yelled in Bitty's ears, and Bitty leapt to his feet and shouted with him, earning several side-eyes from the less-enthused reporters in the press box. Bitty sat down sheepishly. He could hear the rustling of the microphone as Jack's team enveloped him in a hug.

"Clutch goal, cap," said Thirdy.

"Thanks, Third," said Jack.

During the second period, Bitty heard Jack explode in emotion again from the bench when another Falconers' goal occurred. "FUCK YES!" Jack yelled, causing Bitty to smile. Bitty watched him as Poots approached, and Jack held out a fist to bump. "I told you," said Jack, "take your time."

"You said it, Cap," said Poots as he continued down the line.

Five minutes into the third period, the Falconers were up by three, and Ottawa was getting desperate. The checking was getting out of control and they took on a shot with every chance, regardless of the likelihood it'd go in. Just as Jack crept in on an Ottawa forward within shooting distance, a slapshot was taken, and Bitty heard it before he realized what had happened; a loud THWACK filled his ears, causing him to jump, and Jack was down on the ice.

Bitty stood up, listening hard, as the arena went quiet. Jack didn't get up, his glove to his face, and several people huddled together, causing Bitty to lose sight of him. There was nothing Bitty could see on the ice, so he sat down and closed his eyes, listening hard.

"Are you okay?" Bitty heard through his headphones. It sounded like a referee.

"Yeah," said Jack, but his voice sounded pained. "Yeah, I'm fine. Let me just —"

"Jack, your face bleeding," said Tater. "Is bad."

"I'm fine," Jack repeated.

"Let me see," said the referee. "That needs stitches. Take this and get off the ice."

Bitty opened his eyes. Tater had helped Jack stand up and was ushering him toward the bench. From the shot on the Jumbotron, Bitty could see the blood on the ice and Jack's jersey. A towel covered most of it, but Jack was escorted right to the bench and down the ramp.

It was difficult to hear in the press box with the reporters talking to each other as they got their stories straight and worked on next steps. Bitty hurried out of the press box and down the hall, where it was quieter, listening all the while for some kind of update on Jack.

"How do you feel?" someone asked Jack.

"Fine," replied Jack. He sounded as if he were speaking through clenched teeth.

"You sure? You woozy?"

"I'm fine," Jack repeated.

There weren't any more words until Jack was directed to sit on a table for examination. "Okay, give me the towel. Yep, that needs stitches for sure. Let's get your jersey and your pads off and have you lay back here."

There was a lot of rustling but not a lot of words, then a CLUNK as the pack dropped onto a counter. The rest of their commentary was muffled, as if Jack's jersey had been placed on top of the microphone. Bitty could make out most of the conversation as the doctor explained what he was going to do. Jack said nothing, although Bitty thought he could hear a soft whine at one point.

"There we go," said the doctor. "Four stitches. Not bad. You got lucky — an inch or two higher and you would have lost teeth. It's mostly under your chin, so if you scar, it shouldn't be too noticeable. I'll clean you up and we'll be done here."

"Can I go back in?" Jack asked.

"No," said the doctor.

"Why not? It's just stitches."

"No," repeated the doctor. "We've got to keep an eye out for concussion."

Bitty squeaked and then put both of his hands over his mouth; he was alone in the hallway but anyone could come out at any time and ask him for insider details.

"You said I don't have a concussion," said Jack.

"I said I don't  _ think _ you have a concussion, but I want to be sure. Stay back here until the end of the game. No press afterward. I want you back in here first thing in the morning to re-evaluate you."

There was no more conversation but Bitty faintly heard the sound of a door close and then, immediately after, a frustrated groan from Jack. The door clicked open again a few moments later. "Hey George," said Jack. "I'm fine."

"I just got an update," said George. "It doesn't sound serious. The game's almost over anyway, so there's no point in you going back. Coach will give an update to the media afterward, but I don't see why you can't be at practice tomorrow."

There was a long pause.

"Can you get Bitty?"

Bitty froze and his eyes popped open. He looked around, but he was still alone in the hallway, sitting on the floor and propped up against the wall.

"Who is Bitty?" George asked.

"Eric Bittle."

"The reporter?" George asked. She sounded exasperated. "I just told you, Coach will give an update to the media after the game. You know the rules. No interviews until after the game."

"No, I know him," said Jack, and despite what had just transpired, and how worried Bitty was, he still smiled at the sound of it. "He's not like the rest of them. He'll listen if we say not to post anything until after the game. I need to talk to him."

"I said no, Jack."

"No, you don't understand. I need to talk to him. I've got to give him something, he mic'd me up —"

"Whoa, you're mic'd up right now? Where is it?"

There was another loud rustle and the feed went silent. Bitty listened for a few more moments, hoping for something, but the microphone had been turned off. He removed his headphones and stood up. Just as he did, Savannah came rushing down the hallway.

"There you are," she said. "George just texted. She said his mic was on this whole time."

"Yeah, I was listening," said Bitty.

"Eric, you can't use any of that. This is important. Everything you broadcast has to be approved by the league and our club. Don't publish anything until I've reviewed it."

"I know!" said Bitty. "I'm aware of the rules, Savannah. Can I see him?"

Savannah paused.

"George said he asked for you," said Savannah. "Did you hear it?" Bitty nodded. "One question. You will ask how this win will affect his strategy for game three, and that is it. Nothing about his condition, how he feels, any of that. We will give the report on that. Understood?"

"Yes," said Bitty. "Can I see him now?"

Savannah didn't move and Bitty grew antsy. Going through the footage that evening would take longer than usual, and if he needed to get approval from both Savannah and the league, he was in for a long night. He wanted to get Ian and get back to the station, but first, more than anything, he wanted to see Jack.

Savannah stepped closer to him. "You've been spending time with him lately," she said. "Away from the rink."

Bitty couldn't deny it, so he nodded.

"Be very careful," Savannah whispered. "People pick up on these things. They already know you and Jack get along better than anyone else. It's a different league than it was even just a few years ago, but people aren't ready. Don't feed the rumor mill."

"It's not like that," Bitty said.

"Maybe not for him," said Savannah. "But I can see it clear as day on you. Be careful."

Savannah didn't say another word as she led Bitty downstairs. Bitty texted Ian to meet them there, but he hadn't arrived when Bitty was let into the examination room. Savannah closed the door behind him and Bitty rushed forward to Jack, who lay on the table still wearing his skates, staring at the ceiling. Jack looked over and a large grin creeped onto his lips until he scowled in pain.

"Oh, Jack, are you okay?" Bitty asked, peering underneath Jack's chin at the stitches. The skin around it had turned purple, but fortunately there was no other bruising on his face. "Ooh, that looks bad."

"No, Bits, it's not bad," said Jack.

"I heard something about a concussion —"

"There's no concussion. They just need to watch me. I got hit in the face. It's protocol."

"So there could be —"

"Bittle!" said Jack and Bitty closed his mouth. "Bits. I'm okay. Seriously. I wanted to go back in but they said the game's over." Bitty looked at his phone.

"Forty-seven seconds," said Bitty. "You're still up by three. It's over."

"Listen, I'm sorry," said Jack. "I wanted to get you something good and then I ended up missing the end of the game because some idiot shot a puck in my face."

"No!" said Bitty. "You gave me plenty before that! I have so much to use. Thank you." Jack eyed Bitty warily, as if Bitty wasn't giving the full truth. Bitty smiled at him. "Seriously, Jack. I have plenty."

"Okay," said Jack. "I still want to do an interview."

"It'll be quick," said Bitty. "Savannah said I can only ask one question. She sounded serious." Jack still rolled his eyes. Bitty dug through Jack's jersey and pads for the microphone pack before he left to fetch Ian. Savannah refused to allow taping in the examination room, so Jack was sat in a chair in the hallway with a generic white cement wall behind him. Bitty asked his question and received a fairly good answer, but was cut off and told to turn off immediately after Jack finished speaking.

When Savannah was certain the camera was off, she escorted Ian away, leaving Bitty and Jack to walk together toward the dressing room. "Will you be at practice tomorrow?" Bitty asked Jack.

"Yeah, I should be fine," Jack said. "You?"

"You know it," said Bitty. "Ugh, I am so not looking forward to going home tonight, though."

"Why?" Jack asked.

"It's just so quiet now. I live in the hockey Haus with my team, but three of them just graduated yesterday and the other left for summer last week. It's just me. I'm used to it being loud and obnoxious at all hours of the day. It's weird to be there alone."

"Do you want some company?" Jack asked. Bitty looked up at him.

"Really?" Bitty asked. "It's kind of far."

"Yeah, but you don't need to be there all by yourself. Being by yourself is overrated. You know I have Wayne for other reasons, but it's so much better to have someone there when you get home, even if it's just a dog."

"Okay," said Bitty, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I can make us dinner."

"Sounds great," said Jack. "I'll come by after practice."

 

***

 

The Haus was empty, but it wasn't clean. After Bitty finished at the station and sent his footage to Savannah and the NHL media contact for approval, he spent most of the rest of the night and the following morning cleaning the entire Haus in case Jack wanted a tour. Bitty was exhausted when he left for practice.

Bitty offered Jack a ride to the Haus, since they were both going that way anyway, but Jack declined. "I don't want you to have to come all the way back here," Jack had said, and continued to politely refuse when Bitty tried to convince him it was no trouble at all. "Listen, Bits, I'll be honest with you. Your truck is a piece of shit. I don't want to get stranded in Boston when we have to leave for Ottawa in the morning."

"Well then," said Bitty, his eyebrows high on his forehead, "I was going to make you fresh apple cobbler, but if you're just going to be rude…"

"No, no, I'm sorry!" said Jack. "Please still make cobbler."

"Just for you, Jack," said Bitty. "See you soon."

Bitty arrived first, which was a blessing, because as soon as he stepped inside he noticed mud on the living room floor that he'd missed during his late-night cleaning frenzy, and managed to clean it up just in time for Jack to ring the doorbell. Bitty threw the Swiffer back into the closet and bolted to the door. When he opened it, Jack was smiling on the other side. 

"Come on in, Jack," Bitty said. "I have to apologize for the condition of the Haus. Idiot hockey boys live here and I just do what I can to make it look like home."

"I've seen worse," said Jack. "Some of the rooks live together and it's just…not good. You would think NHL salaries would mean they'd pick nice places to live and have nice things, but that's the opposite of the truth. It just means bigger places with more beer cans."

"I can't guarantee that I found all of the beer cans," said Bitty. "I can show you around a bit and then I can start making dinner. Betsy's on the fritz — that's the oven — and Dex left for the summer already, so we're going to have to stick to something I can make on the stovetop. I know I threatened to not make cobbler but I really don't think I can with her being like she is, but I have a decent no-bake cheesecake or peanut butter pie that I can do."

"It's fine, Bits," said Jack. "Calm down."

"Sorry," said Bitty. "I just…it's weird. You being in my world."

"Why is that weird?" Jack asked.

"I'm just used to being in yours," said Bitty. "It's hard to tell if you'll like me here."

"I think I'll still like you here," said Jack. "Come on, show me around."

Bitty did, starting in the kitchen. He introduced Jack to Betsy, apologized again for her sassiness, and then handed him a leftover scone from Savannah's batch to eat during the rest of the tour. He didn't let Jack even enter the den due to the disgusting green couch, showed Jack the living room, and then went up the stairs.

"Chowder lives in this room," said Bitty, showing Jack the explosion of San Jose Sharks merchandise when the light flickered on. "Are you blinded yet?"

"I'm guessing he likes the Sharks," said Jack. "That's a shame."

"Be nice, he's from California," said Bitty. "Lardo's room is this way. Well, as of two days ago it was her room. Now it belongs to Dex and Nursey. I'm not necessarily looking forward to the two of them living across the hall from me." Jack wandered into the room, so Bitty followed behind. Jack's eyes traveled over the old furniture, the walls, up into the corners and over to the door that led to the bathroom. He looked deep in thought, a wistful expression on his face.

"I thought you said five people lived here," he eventually said.

"Ransom and Holster have the attic," Bitty said, pointing upstairs. "They just graduated too, so now it belongs to Ollie and Wicky. I can show you up there if you want."

Jack shrugged his shoulders. "If you want," he said. Bitty noticed one of Nursey's sweaters lying on the floor. He picked it up, folded it, and placed it on the bed near one of the boxes with Nursey's name on it. Jack approached from behind and Bitty turned around. Jack gestured around vaguely. "I like it here. It feels familiar, like I was here a long time ago." Jack's gaze was far away with uncertain nostalgia. "I told you my mom went here, right?"

"Yeah, you told me," said Bitty.

"I wonder what would have happened if I went to college instead," said Jack. "If my — if what happened after the draft instead happened before it, or if they didn't let me stay. I probably would have come here. Maybe we would have been on the same team."

"Maybe," said Bitty. "Maybe this would have been your room."

"Maybe we would have been friends," said Jack.

Bitty felt a thrill of something, he wasn't sure what, when Jack finally looked back at him. He felt it too, what Jack had been saying, like maybe this was something he'd done in another life. He felt so close to Jack, more than just a friend from work or someone he'd gotten to know a little better over the last few months. He felt deeply, intensely connected to Jack, and it was probably why he was brave enough to say, "Just friends?"

"No," whispered Jack. "Not just friends."

Bitty broke out into a smile. Jack did the same and after Bitty looked at it, there was nothing left in the world. They were in between universes there in the expanse of the Haus, cocooned in a place that belonged to just the two of them. It didn't matter how they had gotten there or where they would be after this moment ended. They were there, together, looking at each other, and they were more than friends. Jack took a step forward and pressed their lips together. Bitty melted against him, kissing back, both his hands on Jack's chest as Jack's strong arms enveloped him, pulling them together. Jack tasted sweet, like the blueberry scone he'd just eaten, and Bitty wanted nothing more than to continue to taste him, to be like this with him in their universe until the end of time.

Jack let go tentatively, pulling back to full height to look down at Bitty.

"Okay?" Jack asked.

Jack's fingers traced the lines of Bitty's face — along his chin, into his hair, over his cheeks, down his nose — and Bitty in return marveled at Jack's features, the ones he'd spent months studying while between other reporters or on the other side of a camera lens. He had only ever been able to look and to want. Now Jack could be touched, so Bitty reached up his own hand and placed his fingers on Jack's lips, and Jack kissed each one.

"Yes," said Bitty.


	11. Chapter 11

"I've always said that you can bake anywhere and with anything as long as you know your appliances. Y'all have become well acquainted with Betsy over the years. I love her to pieces and would be devastated if something happened to her, but she's a pile of junk. Oh gosh, I'm glad I'm not home where she can hear me." 

Bitty looked behind him at Jack's office. He had to set up his camera in an awkward angle to avoid identifying the location. Jack used this room as a place to display a lot of his awards and trophies, including plaques with point milestones. All of them had his name in varying degrees of visibility, so Bitty had to strategically sit with the camera zoomed in closer than usual and mostly just the door behind him. The door was slightly off center and it bothered him, but Jack's jersey from juniors was hanging just to the right of it.

"I just ruined it, y'all. Watch me get home and she won't even turn on. Anyway, despite her quirks, I understand her. I know she's going to take a half an hour to get to temperature and sugar cookies are going to take ten minutes instead of six. It's not ideal, but I understand the adjustments I need to make so my baked goods turn out perfect every time. You don't need a fancy four thousand dollar convection oven to be able to make something yummy. However…yesterday I cooked in a four thousand dollar convection oven and  _ Lord _ . I am shook."

Bitty could feel his whole body melt into the desk chair as he thought about cooking in Jack's kitchen. His memory of the experience might have been altered by what had occurred after dinner was over, but there was nothing like cooking with quality tools.

"I'm officially spoiled," he continued. "I don't know how I can go back. The oven preheated in five minutes. The temperature on the display was the actual temperature inside it. It stayed at that temperature the whole time the oven was on. Everything came out when I expected and was perfectly, evenly cooked. So I suppose the moral of the story today is you don't have to have fancy appliances in order to cook well, but damn if it doesn't help.

"I have a couple of hours before work this morning, so let's pop down there and see what else we can make in that gorgeous oven. I'm dying to see how the broiler works."

 

* * *

  
  


The day before game three, Bitty boarded a plane for Ottawa. Jack had stayed the night with him (and, despite several hours of making out, had remained a perfect gentleman), and delicately kissed Bitty goodbye before he left in a hurry. Bitty prepared for his own trip, antsy to see Jack again. The flight was awkward; he and Ian sat next to each other as they had on all previous flights, and Ian noticed his nerves right away. They hadn't even hit ten thousand feet.

"Have you ever been out of the country before?" Ian asked. Bitty shook his head.

"No," said Bitty.

"Ottawa's not so bad, but it's nothing to write home about. I know their team has been on fire but we've always been able to one up them. I'm not worried about it, if you are."

"Oh, no, I'm not worried about it," said Bitty. "Well, a little bit, but you said it. We always play well against them." Ian nodded and looked back down at his book. Bitty hadn't taken anything out of his bag. He continued to grip the edges of the armrests and look out the window. They were still inside a cloud, so he looked at the seat in front of him.

"You okay, Eric?" Ian asked. "You're usually chatty on flights."

"I'm fine," said Bitty. He realized his hands hurt and moved them to his lap. "Just eager to get started." Ian looked at him and Bitty forced a smile. Ian returned his attention to his book.

Bitty eventually took out his computer and messed around on the internet in an attempt to distract himself from seeing Jack again. There hadn't been much talk the night before and none that morning. Jack had looked at him with a soft, fond gaze before he left the Haus, but Bitty was still terrified of what would happen when they saw each other again.

He did not have to wait long. He'd only just entered his room when he received a text:

      **Jack**  
     Are you here yet?

Bitty replied with his room number and within minutes there was a knock at the door. Bitty looked at himself in the mirror and fixed his hair before he opened it. Jack stood on the other side in a T-shirt and athletic shorts. Bitty's eyes raked over Jack's body for just a moment before he stepped aside and let him in. Jack stared right back at him, his gaze intense, like there was nothing else to see. The door shut and Jack pressed Bitty up against a wall.

"Hey," Jack whispered. He was incredibly close.

"Hey," replied Bitty.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please," whispered Bitty.

Jack did with unexpected delicacy. Bitty felt like his knees could give way at any moment and he would fall to the floor. Jack's lips were intoxicating but still soft against his own. Jack held him loosely at the hips. Once the haze passed and Bitty could think, he realized Jack must be hunching drastically to reach him. 

"Do you want to move?" Bitty asked. Jack pulled away from him and stood up straight, a difference of at least six inches. Bitty nodded toward the bed and Jack's eyebrows raised. "Just to kiss. I - I just don't want you bending so much to have to kiss me and my knees feel like jelly so I need to sit down."

A sly smile crossed over Jack's lips and Bitty immediately hit him. 

"I didn't say anything!" said Jack with laughter in his voice.

"You were getting ready to chirp. I could see it."

"Come on, Bittle." Jack took both of Bitty's hands, which were tightly wound into fists. Bitty relaxed and let Jack hold them and then lead Bitty to the bed. Bitty still felt wobbly and featherbrained, but neither of the feelings were unpleasant. He felt like he wasn't still on the ground, like Jack had caused him to ascend somehow, and the altitude was causing his head to spin.

Jack rooted him, though, by gently pushing Bitty onto the bed and then lying next to him. Jack placed a hand on Bitty's hip and examined the expanse of his body. Bitty felt exposed despite being fully clothed, like Jack's gaze was searching underneath his jeans and hooded sweatshirt. When Jack's eyes met his, Jack smiled.

"You look good today, Bits," he said.

"I'm wearing a hoodie," said Bitty.

"It looks good on you." Jack leaned forward to kiss him again but Bitty backed away. "What?" Jack asked.

"Can we talk?" Bitty asked. "We haven't talked yet."

"Is this okay?" Jack asked as he rubbed Bitty's hip.

"Yes! Yes, it's okay, but… I don't know. You're you and I'm just me and I've never even kissed anyone before, much less started a relationship and I'm kind of freaking out." Jack moved his hand to Bitty's face and Bitty's eyes closed at his touch.

"Bits," Jack said. "How different am I now compared to yesterday? You know me."

Bitty opened his eyes. "I'm sorry," Bitty said. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Just be here with me," said Jack.

Bitty hesitantly placed his arm around Jack's waist and pulled him in. Jack willingly moved, watching Bitty with a gentle, open expression as Bitty touched Jack's body — the crinkles of his T-shirt, the sharp line of his exposed hip, the spread of dark hair on his forearms. Bitty's lips tightened into a suppressed grin when his fingers brushed there and left the follicles standing on end. He had done that. He'd caused Jack to respond like that.

He looked back up to Jack's face; Jack had been staring at Bitty's lips, his eyelids low, his cheeks flushed. Bitty removed his hand from Jack's arm and placed it on the back of Jack's neck to direct them together. With a deep inhale, they kissed again. Bitty could feel it everywhere, in the buzzing nerves on every inch of skin, in his thumping heart, in his overwhelming desire to get closer and closer to Jack, because despite being entwined, despite Jack's arms encircling his waist, they were not nearly close enough.

They kissed like that until Jack let go. Bitty watched while Jack checked the time and visibly deflated. Bitty touched the top of Jack's smooth, muscular shoulder that had just slumped forward. 

"I need to go," Jack said. "Can I come back later?"

"Yeah, of course," said Bitty.

"I'll see you later, then," said Jack, and he gave Bitty one more long kiss before he stood up and left the room. Bitty watched him leave. Once the door clicked shut Bitty pressed his face into a pillow and squealed.

The Falconers won game three but Ottawa won game four in overtime, forcing a game five back in Providence. Jack seemed to be in a decent mood, despite their loss, when he called Bitty from the plane on the way home. It was late, and Bitty should have been sleeping, but when he saw Jack's name pop up on his phone he immediately answered.

"I'm hiding in the bathroom," Jack explained when Bitty asked why he was calling from the plane, "so I don't really have a lot of time. I wanted to make sure I asked before you went home. I want you to come to my house when you get back to Providence tomorrow."

Bitty paused. "For dinner?" he asked.

"To stay," said Jack. "Not forever. I know you're in that house by yourself and I'm in my house by myself and I think it would be better if we were in a house together."

"For how long?" Bitty asked.

"I don't know. However long you want to. Is this too much? Am I asking too much?"

"No, no I want to," said Bitty. "Let me just go home and get some things. I'll have to go to work and edit after practice, but I'll see you there, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," said Jack. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Bitty had a hard time sleeping that night and thus had a rough flight back in the morning. He and Ian drove straight from the airport to the practice venue and only caught the end of the skate. The team looked good, laughing and joking but still working hard, none of them personally affected by their loss the night before. Bitty knew he should get time with Poots, who scored the Falcs' only goal the night before, but Poots could not give a good interview. Bitty stopped by Jack first, knowing he'd get at least something usable from him.

Bitty joined the group of reporters in front of Jack as he wiped sweat off his face with a towel and put on his usual interview hat. Jack caught eyes with Bitty but quickly looked away. It had been the same in Ottawa; Jack barely paid attention to him unless he was asking questions. Bitty could feel the awkwardness and didn't know how to fix it without also making it obvious that they had spent the majority of the last four days kissing each other. Instead he held out his microphone as usual and allowed someone else to ask a question. Fortunately, Jack was able to give a good sound bite without a prompt from Bitty.

"When you're in the playoffs, you expect to win every game," Jack said. "Emotions are high. That's the nature of it. You have to be able to turn the page."

Snowy, who'd been pulled in the second period after letting through four goals, said something very similar. "You have to move on for sure," he said after Bitty asked how he planned to bounce back from their loss. "You want to win every game and you want to get those perfect sixteen wins, but that's not always the case. For us that has never been the case. You have to move on and trust your team."

Poots, however, always had a more difficult time articulating a response, which was the reason Bitty and Ian were the only people standing in front of him requesting an interview. He was nearly naked, not expecting to have anyone approach him. "Oh, hi," he said when Bitty approached. He immediately tensed his shoulders so tightly his neck disappeared.

"Hey," said Bitty. "You're kind of on fire right now, huh?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Poots. Bitty lowered his microphone as if he wasn't recording this and sat at the empty stall next to him so that Poots would look his way instead of at Ian. Poots was already bright red, which clashed terribly with his hair and the beard that had started to come in on his face. "I think I've just been lucky."

"I don't know, Poots. We're at the end of round three and you're leading the team in points. Jack's three behind you. Jack. Your captain. That's kind of crazy, isn't it?"

"Huh, yeah," said Poots with a small smile. "I guess that's true."

"What does that feel like?" Bitty asked. "Knowing you're ahead of your captain in points."

"Jack's — jeez, Jack is great." Poots glanced to the side at Ian.

"Hey, I just want to chat," said Bitty immediately. Bitty held up both of his hands in surrender and Poots visibly relaxed. "I got what I needed for TV from Snowy and Jack. I just wanted to come over here and congratulate you. Did I tell you I play hockey too?"

"No!" said Poots, his eyes wide. "Like right now? I thought you were a reporter."

"I'm in school," said Bitty. "I play for Samwell. This is my internship for my journalism major. I know I'm a small fry and all —"

"Hey that's really cool," said Poots. "Are you a forward? Do you score a lot?"

"I'm okay," said Bitty. "Nothing like you."

"Oh geez, man," said Poots and his skin, which had calmed down in color, began to flush again.

"You're here, Poots," said Bitty. "It's the playoffs. You guys could get to the finals with a win tomorrow. You're leading the team in points. You scored two goals yesterday. That has got to feel good. You can let yourself feel a little good there, can't you?"

Bitty surreptitiously raised his microphone and Ian carefully adjusted the shot.

"Yeah, I suppose," said Poots. "It's not where I expected to be for sure. I got bounced up and down between here and the Cardinals all year and I think I just got lucky getting called up close enough to the playoffs that they let me stay on."

"How do you make sure you win?"

"I don't know," said Poots with a shrug. "I think you rely on the other guys to keep the momentum up but still hold yourself accountable to it. Look for the other team to give you chances. Take whatever they will give you."

Bitty glanced at Ian, who nodded.

"Hey thanks, Poots," said Bitty. "Good game tomorrow." Poots glanced at Ian and then back at Bitty and groaned.

"Did you record that?" he asked.

"Yeah, of course," said Bitty. He clapped Poots on the shoulder. "You did great."

Poots frowned. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. See you tomorrow, Poots."

Bitty and Ian headed out of the dressing room. Bitty glanced back at Jack, who'd taken off most of his gear. Bitty's eyes roamed gratuitously over Jack's body; they'd had their share of kisses and slept in the same bed a few times during the Ottawa series, but it had not progressed from there, and Bitty's mouth watered at the sight of Jack without clothes.

Bitty ran directly into Ian, who'd paused at the door as a different reporting team passed by. Ian looked at Bitty, who blushed furiously. "Sorry," Bitty said.

"You doing all right today, Eric?" Ian asked. "You've been unusually nervous these last few days."

"I guess I'm not used to all this travel yet," said Bitty with a false laugh. Ian clearly didn't buy it so Bitty decided it would just be best to move on. "We got some good stuff today, though. I think we should use that quote from Poots tonight."

"You did a good job there," said Ian. "You knew how to make him feel comfortable. You're good at that. Just don't get distracted. We're still here to tell a story." Bitty swallowed hard and nodded.

They arrived back at the station and Bitty headed straight to the editing room. It was dark and silent as usual, everyone focused on their task and their deadlines. Bitty took the open seat next to Sandy, who clapped him on the back. "Great job out in Ottawa," said Sandy. "You look like a total pro."

"Thank you," said Bitty. "I like this more when I'm not constantly afraid I'm getting fired."

"Yeah right, like they're going to fire you after that ESPN interview," said Sandy. "You could do whatever you want. Don't do whatever you want. I like being home for dinner."

"Don't worry, Sandy," said Bitty. He teed up Ian's footage from the post-practice interviews. "I still like this part."

They had spoken to Jack first so when Bitty began the tape he immediately saw Jack. He exhaled a sigh and rested his cheek on his fist, looking at Jack's features with unrestricted awe. Jack's face was beautiful from every angle. When Jack turned his head Bitty stared at his jawline. When he looked straight on, Bitty looked back into his eyes. Even his sweat was cute.

The footage cut out and switched to Snowy, and Bitty sat up, realizing he had been staring the whole time and hadn't taken in even a word that Jack had said. Bitty sat up and adjusted his posture. He wasn't there to gawk. He could do that when he got to Jack's house.

Bitty restarted the tape and paid attention to the entire picture in front of him instead of Jack. Jack had a couple of good responses but his quip about turning the page was the best, so Bitty began to clip that out when he realized that Jack kept looking at Ian's camera when he said it. Each time he did Bitty felt his heart flutter. Jack looked into the camera with doe eyes, like Bitty was holding it, and the look only intensified when he actually looked at Bitty.

Bitty froze and glanced over at Sandy, who wasn't paying him any attention. Bitty replayed the footage that he'd clipped for his segment that evening. There was no way he could air this. It was too obvious. Jack looked at Bitty like they were in love and if Bitty aired this clip everyone would know. With great reluctance, Bitty deleted the entire interview and moved onto Snowy instead.

 

***

 

Bitty returned to the Haus, dumped all of his clean clothes into a large suitcase, and then threw it in the back of his truck. He was antsy to get back to Jack but his stomach growled halfway there so he stopped at the grocery store and picked up enough ingredients for a good dinner before he finished the trip.

Wayne sniffed the door when Bitty arrived. When Bitty opened it, Wayne took only one whiff of Bitty's pant leg before he stuck his nose in the grocery bag. "Wayne, stop it," said Bitty. Wayne looked up at him, as if questioning Bitty's authority to make such a command, but then turned around and headed up the stairs. Bitty followed behind and found Jack as he entered the kitchen.

"Hey," said Jack. "I was beginning to worry if you were going to show up at all."

"Sorry, I had to run home for clothes," said Bitty. He dropped the grocery bags on the counter before he approached Jack. Jack took him by the waist and pulled him close to kiss him. Bitty melted against him for only a moment before his stomach growled again, causing Jack to chuckle against his mouth.

"I should start dinner," said Bitty. "Did you eat?"

"No, I was waiting for you," said Jack. "Can I help?"

"I have some veggies that need cutting," said Bitty. He removed a head of broccoli, multiple colors of peppers, and pea pods from inside one of the grocery bags. He placed them on the counter for Jack. Bitty turned on the oven to preheat and then began searching for a skillet and a pot. Jack gently nudged him toward the cabinets in the island, where he found what he was looking for. Jack's touch on Bitty's back sent shivers down his spine, so Bitty shoved his head in the cabinet and briefly attempted to calm the flush in his face before he surfaced again. He placed the small pot and the skillet on the stove before he began opening cabinets again.

"What are you looking for?" Jack asked.

"Measuring cups," Bitty replied.

"Two to the right," said Jack. "You can just ask, you know."

"I want to learn where everything is," said Bitty.

Once he had everything he needed, Bitty stood next to Jack at the island. In the pot rice simmered while in the skillet Bitty seared thin cuts of steak to broil with Jack's vegetables. They had been relatively quiet until that point, but now that it appeared they were settled, Jack spoke up:

"I've got a bone to pick with you," he said. Bitty immediately looked over.

"What did I do?" Bitty asked, his voice high and shrill with worry. Jack smiled at him and Bitty deescalated quickly; this was the smile that accompanied a chirp.

"I had the news on before you got here. I saw a great sound bite from Snowy and one by Poots, surprisingly, but absolutely nothing from me. I watched at six-thirty  _ and _ at seven o'clock and nothing. I gave you gold today, Bits."

"I can't use you every day, Jack," said Bitty with an eye roll. "There are other players on the team."

"But I was insightful! I used a metaphor and everything!" Jack said with fake indignation. Bitty rolled his eyes again and Jack nudged him with an elbow. The contact sent a surge of electricity up Bitty's arm. Bitty nudged back and Jack flushed. Bitty set down the spatula he was using to flip the steak and turned to Jack.

"Seriously, though, Jack," Bitty said. "I couldn't use anything you gave me tonight. You were looking at me, well — how you're looking at me right now."

"How am I looking at you right now?" Jack asked and his thick dark eyebrows furrowed in his confusion. It didn't detract from the fondness in his eyes.

"Like you want to kiss me," Bitty said quietly.

"I do want to kiss you," said Jack and then he did. Bitty let him for just a moment before he pushed Jack away.

"No, Jack, I mean it," said Bitty. "I know you want to be discreet about this. I can't put your heart eyes all over the local news. People will figure it out."

Jack frowned. "What do you think we should do?" he asked. "I like looking at you. I like having you in the room when I'm done with practice. I like knowing that you're there and that I can talk to you."

"It's work, though," said Bitty. "Maybe just treat it like work. I'll stay here until the playoffs are over. Save your kisses for when we're home."

Jack moved in on him again; he took Bitty by the waist and pulled him close. Bitty raised to his toes to meet Jack halfway, their lips connecting. Bitty could tell as soon as they touched that this kiss had a different, less innocent intent. He pressed back at Jack, who held him tighter around the waist, careful to keep him balanced. Bitty pulled Jack by the back of the neck to get somehow even closer, but then sizzling from the skillet on the stove grabbed his attention.

"Oh," said Bitty. "Right. Dinner."

He reluctantly parted from Jack, who kept a hand at the small of his back while he flipped the steak. Bitty was hyper aware of Jack's touch every moment it was there, and could still feel it even after Jack let go. 

"Are these going in the pan?" Jack asked, his voice low and rough. It was much more seductive than it should have been. 

"No, we'll put those on a baking sheet with some oil — DO NOT make fun of how I say oil, Monsieur Aboot — and the steak." Jack fished a baking sheet from the cabinet underneath the oven. From the caked on mess and Jack's eating habits, Bitty could tell it had only ever been used for chicken tenders. 

Jack helped Bitty spread out the vegetables and steak on the sheet. Jack stood behind Bitty, his hip pressing into Bitty's lower back, his left arm brushing consistently against Bitty's left shoulder. Bitty pushed back against him, his ass against Jack's thigh, his right shoulder into Jack's chest. He could feel Jack's slow, steady breath against the crown of his head. They were so close. He spread olive oil over the vegetables and after he returned the bottle to the counter, Jack placed a hand on his shoulder. Bitty closed his eyes. He let his body rest fully against Jack's. Jack's other hand wrapped around his waist, holding him there in place.

"How long does this go in the oven for?" Jack asked.

"Just fifteen minutes," said Bitty. He opened his eyes. "Oh, we better get them in if we don't want this rice getting cold. Get away from me, Mr. Zimmermann. You are very distracting."

"I am not the distracting one here," Jack said and planted a kiss on the side of Bitty's neck. Bitty's eyes fell closed again before he regained his senses and pushed Jack out of the way.

"You are such a liar," Bitty said. He popped the sheet into the oven but as soon as he closed the door Jack kissed him again. Jack pushed him up against the nearest wall and Bitty could feel him hunching again, but before Bitty could stand on his toes or attempt to make up for the difference Jack had hoisted him upward so they were at even height. Jack did it effortlessly, as if Bitty weighed nothing, and Bitty, despite his growling stomach, was no longer interested in dinner. Jack moved on to Bitty's neck, giving him the opportunity to moan.

"Jack, what are you doing to me?" Bitty whined.

"I'm kissing you," Jack whispered, his breath hot in Bitty's ear. "Is it too much? Do you want me to stop?"

"Oh Lord no."

They kissed against the wall in the kitchen until the timer went off. Jack carefully lowered Bitty back to the floor and Bitty wobbled over to the stove to turn off the burner for the rice. Jack did not touch him again until dinner was on the table. They sat right next to each other, their chairs close, staring at each other while they ate their meal.

"This is good," Jack said. "I can't make anything apart from chicken tenders and peanut butter and jelly."

"PBJ is a good skill," said Bitty with a small smile. "I can make a mean PBJ."

"Maybe you can make my pre-game PBJ tomorrow," replied Jack.

"And mess up your routine?" Bitty asked, his eyes wide. "I could never!"

"I'm okay with this one changing a bit," said Jack. "It's not like I'm switching which skate I lace up first."

"Oh, God forbid," said Bitty and Jack nudged him. Bitty nudged back. The nudging war continued until dinner was over. Jack helped Bitty clear the table and put most of the dishes in the dishwasher, but when Bitty picked up the skillet to begin to wash it, Jack took it from him and set it back down on the stovetop.

"No, we can finish that later," said Jack.

"What do you want to do now?" Bitty asked.

"Go to bed," said Jack.

"Bed? It's eight-thirty." Jack raised his eyebrows. "Oh. Oh! Yeah, we can go to bed."

As soon as Bitty agreed, Jack dipped a shoulder and hoisted Bitty onto it. Bitty yelped in surprise and then laughed as Jack carried him up the stairs.

Jack deposited him onto the bed and Bitty moaned upon the feel of it. He had fantasized about laying on this bed ever since Jack had taken him on a tour of the house, and it did not disappoint. Bitty relished in the soft, thick comforter and the light, airy mattress underneath him. He had never been in a bed as luxurious as this one. Bitty ran his fingers along the blankets until he realized that he was completely ignoring Jack.

Bitty looked up and Jack was watching him, an amused smile on his face. "Should I leave you alone?" Jack teased.

"Absolutely not, Mr. Zimmermann," said Bitty. He extended his arms and Jack crawled on top of him. Jack lowered his body in between Bitty's open legs and before their lips even connected, Jack ground their hips together. Bitty moaned for real this time and let Jack kiss him. Bitty could feel Jack hard against him as Jack continued thrusting, a feeling both overwhelming and intoxicating. Bitty had a difficult time containing the volume of his voice but Jack didn't seem to mind, since he could feel Jack's lips turn upward whenever Bitty made a sound. Bitty lay spineless against the bed, both unsure of what to do with his hands and willing to let Jack do whatever he wanted.

Jack began to plant kisses across Bitty's face and into his neck, causing Bitty to grab Jack's back, sinking his fingers into Jack's T-shirt. Jack responded with another hip roll; Bitty gasped and realized this was going to be over far too soon if Jack didn't do something else.

"Jack," Bitty said. Jack removed his face from Bitty's neck and propped himself up on his elbows to look at Bitty's face.

"You okay?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, yeah," said Bitty. "Um… I just need you to talk to me."

"How?" Jack asked.

"What are we doing?" Bitty asked.

"What do you want to do?" Jack replied.

"I don't know," said Bitty with a brisk shake of his head. He was beginning to feel more nervous than excited, which was not the direction he wanted to go. Jack had been able to make him feel good so far. "I-I want to touch you."

"Yeah?" Jack asked, a small smile on his lips. "Then touch me."

"A-and I want you to touch me," said Bitty.

"Okay," said Jack. "Let's get our clothes off first." Bitty agreed and sat up as Jack drew back. He was about to take off his shirt when Jack grabbed the hem of his own and pulled it over his head. Bitty had seen Jack's chest a few times in the dressing room, and each time it had been good, but this was something altogether different. Instead of remembering to take off his own shirt, Bitty stared, his eyes searching the expanse of Jack's torso. Every hockey player was in great physical shape, but Jack… Jack was in  _ great _ physical shape.

Jack let him stare for several seconds before he pressed on, his fingers at the hem of Bitty's shirt. "Oh," said Bitty. "Right." He quickly took off his own. Jack unbuckled Bitty's belt and pants and slid them down off his hips. Bitty felt his heart begin to beat hard in his chest; similar to seeing Jack shirtless, he had been naked in front of other people, but this was so different.

"God, Bits, you are beautiful," Jack said, his voice low and deep. Bitty looked at him; this was the kind of compliment he normally would have dismissed, but Bitty could see it all over Jack's face. He was serious. Bitty reached out for him again.

"Come back to me," said Bitty. Jack leaned forward and kissed him heatedly, and Bitty held tight onto the sides of Jack's face. Jack's hands were everywhere, on Bitty's arms, down his sides, over his thighs, underneath him and gripping his ass. Bitty was starting to lose his nerves and feel pleasure again, especially after he let go of Jack's face and began to pull Jack's shorts down. Jack paused and assisted him, taking his shorts and boxers off in one swoop. Bitty let out a deep breath and then Jack took hold of him.

"Oh my God," Bitty said.

"Does that feel good?" Jack asked.

"Yes," moaned Bitty. Jack had a firm grip on him and was rubbing him up and down at a slow, tantalizing pace. Jack shifted and Bitty looked down; he could see Jack's hand on him, but could also see Jack's erection.

"Bits," Jack whispered into Bitty's ear. "Touch me."

Bitty reached down with one hand and wrapped it around Jack's cock. He quickly looked at Jack's face for a reaction as he began to stroke it; Jack's hand stilled and his eyes closed. "Good?" Bitty asked. Jack nodded. Bitty continued to stroke him and could see a blush appear in Jack's cheeks. Jack regained his composure and adjusted his hips so he could wrap his hand around both of them. Bitty let Jack take over; the combination of Jack's hand and Jack's cock sliding against Bitty's own was the most overwhelming moment thus far. Bitty's arms collapsed against the bed. He felt useless but so good at the same time.

"Jack," Bitty whispered.

"You close?" Jack asked. Bitty nodded. "Good. I want to see you."

Bitty struggled to keep his eyes open. Jack was watching him, his own eyes droopy with desire. Jack's hand was flying over them and Bitty could feel his orgasm build. His body tensed, he arched his back, and came. Jack continued and followed a moment later; he let out a long breath and Bitty could feel Jack's come shoot onto his stomach.

It took several breaths until Bitty could open his eyes again. When he did Jack was there, looking back at him. Bitty smiled. "You good?" Jack asked.

"Yes. Very," said Bitty.

Jack gave him a gentle kiss.

"Good," he whispered.


	12. Chapter 12

"If you want to show off your culinary skills, a house party is really the way to go. Now I know some of you are my age, so when I say house party, I don't mean _ house party _ , but more of a get-together in your home with some people that you trust to give you an honest opinion. I'm at a friend's today and a few of his coworkers are coming over later, so we're going to whip up a couple of quick and easy treats to impress any type of guest. This is great on days when you go to your friend's house and he doesn't tell you until the last minute that people are coming over and you have no time to prepare."

Bitty stared down Jack, who was sitting on the couch off camera. Jack slouched further into the cushions and raised his book closer to his face in an attempt to hide. Bitty adjusted the camera to focus on the ingredients on the counter. "Here are a few items you should already have in your home. If you don't, I highly recommend you put them on your grocery list this week." 

Bitty lucked out with the baking ingredients; Jack, who did not often cook for himself, did frequently eat eggs, so there was a full carton in the fridge. In addition to that, there were flour and sugar in bags that had never been opened. Bitty had unearthed some peanut butter and, surprisingly, cocoa powder from the pantry and had himself the basis of a couple of good recipes. Unfortunately Jack only had three sticks of butter, which cut down Bitty's options significantly.

"When you think of a party, you think of foods people can snack on. Depending on what time of day it is, you'll want to serve them a full meal. If you can't, you'll want to make it expressly clear that you won't, because the key to a successful party is feeding everyone. I suppose talking to them and having something to do is important too. The easiest way to get people to talk to you is to have a charming array of food so they can say 'This is good, what's in it?' and you can ramble on about how you made it. That's how all of my parties go, at least."

Jack snickered from the couch.

"Hey, quiet over there," said Bitty. He tossed a pot holder frisbee-style across the room and then laughed when it hit Jack square in the face.

"Hey!" said Jack.

"I have a rule at the Haus, you know. No talking while Bitty's filming vlogs."

"I'm very sorry," said Jack, smiling apologetically. Bitty felt relaxed just from looking at him. Jack lay with head against the back cushion on his couch, his hair messy, his beard unkempt. He wore a plain white T-shirt and hockey shorts with bare feet that he propped up on the coffee table. This is what Jack had meant when Bitty visited the house for the first time; this was the one place he didn't have to hide. It looked good on him.

"You know, this is really cute," Jack said, gesturing vaguely to Bitty and his camera. "This blog thing you do."

"Yeah?" Bitty asked. He was unable to control his smile.

"Yeah."

Bitty steeled himself together and picked up a stick of butter. "Thank you. Now hush."

Jack mimed zipping his lips and Bitty returned his attention to his camera.

 

* * *

 

Bitty stood in the press box, his hands over his mouth, as the horn blared and the Falconers secured their first trip to the Stanley Cup Finals. Most of the press box had cleared out to join the team on the ice, Ian included, but Bitty wanted to see the end. He wanted to see the moment the bench emptied and the team engulfed each other, jumping and shouting and cheering. That wasn't something he could see in a tunnel while waiting to get on the ice to interview elated people. There would be time for that. Ian would get the footage they needed to snap together for highlights. Anything Ian didn't get, NBCSN would provide. Bitty wanted a small moment of privacy where he could be proud of this team and proud of Jack before he had to stash it away and put on his reporter mask.

Once the moment passed and the fans of the away team began to leave, Bitty picked up his microphone and headed out toward ice level. He needed a couple of sentences from at least one person to put into a segment; the rest of it could be padded with highlights and whatever Ian caught during the celebration. Bitty was actually hoping for something from Marty or Thirdy, who'd gotten the only two goals of the game. Poots had gotten an assist on each and was just one point away from a franchise record in playoff points, but Poots was unreliable and Bitty didn't have the time to coerce him into saying something usable. Jack, despite not scoring, played a great game, but Bitty was once again afraid of how Jack would look at him, especially with emotions running this high.

Jack, however, came directly to Bitty once Bitty found Ian. He looked like he wanted a hug but stopped himself short, standing closer than necessary and allowing Bitty to hold a microphone up to him.

"How do you feel?" was all Bitty had to ask.

"This is unreal," said Jack. Bitty carefully looked at his face; there was no need for funny questions or playful chirps to get a human reaction from him. Jack couldn't stop smiling. He was near tears. He looked in love with hockey, not with Bitty. "We've never been this far before. I never thought this would happen. I should have known, though." Jack looked to the side, at the conglomeration of blue, white, and yellow that was still hugging and crying and congratulating each other. "This team is the best team we've ever had. We've never been this strong. And we've got this. We have got this."

"Thanks, Jack," said Bitty.

"Thanks, Bits."

Bitty's eyes flickered to the camera just briefly and Ian redirected his shot to the rest of the team. Jack awkwardly clapped Bitty on the shoulder and Bitty gave him a tight-lipped smile before he lowered his microphone.

"They're going to make me go out," said Jack. "I won't be home until late."

Bitty quickly switched the microphone off. 

"Oh, shit," said Jack. He looked at Ian standing ten feet away; Ian did not look back at them. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay, we're not live or anything. I'll just edit it out."

"I'll see you tonight?" Jack asked.

"Yeah. I'll wait up for you."

Jack smiled. "Good."

Bitty was in the bed with Wayne when Jack finally got home. It was three o'clock in the morning. Wayne was fast asleep and snoring. Bitty had been drifting in and out of sleep, determined to stay awake but failing when Jack entered the room. He opened his eyes to find Jack frowning at him.

"Bits," he said. "Wayne is not allowed on the bed."

"But he's so cute," said Bitty with one hand on Wayne's belly.

"Now he's going to want to be up here all the time," said Jack. "I would much prefer he stay out of our way." Bitty frowned. Jack patted Wayne on the side; Wayne reluctantly woke up, took one look at Jack, and then hopped off the bed. He trotted to his own bed and went right back to sleep. Jack looked back at Bitty. "I like this," Jack said.

"What?" Bitty asked.

"You. In my bed when I get home."

"You should join me," said Bitty. Jack leaned in to kiss him but Bitty moved away. "You should take a shower and then join me."

"Do I smell like booze? I tried to stay away from it but Tater especially seemed determined to douse everyone in champagne."

"Oh God, I don't even want to see the bar tab when you guys win the Stanley Cup."

"Don't jinx it!" called Jack over his shoulder as he headed into the bathroom. Bitty waited patiently for him to return. Jack did, only a few minutes later, and did not bother to put on new clothing. He paused at the door and Bitty looked him over. A small smile crossed Jack's face, he leaned against the doorframe, and crossed his right ankle over his left.

"Are you tired?" Jack asked.

"No," replied Bitty in a husky whisper. "Come here."

Jack approached the bed and pulled the covers off Bitty. He felt very exposed, despite the fact he was still in a Samwell Men's Hockey T-shirt and underwear. Jack's eyes x-rayed him, searching Bitty's body for what was under his clothes. Bitty could see the effect it had on Jack, from the spread of a blush down his neck and over his chest to the growing erection between his legs. Jack climbed on top of Bitty and pressed their lips together with purpose. There was nothing delicate about this.

Their first time had been overwhelming in many ways, but this time Bitty felt more in control of himself, so while Jack kissed him, open-mouthed and filthy, Bitty secured a firm grip on Jack's sides and pushed him to the right so Bitty could roll on top of him. Jack grinned wickedly when Bitty straddled him.

"Well hello," said Jack.

Bitty leaned forward. "Jack Zimmermann," he said in his best media voice, "your team is going to the Stanley Cup Finals. How do you feel?"

"Mmm, I feel good," said Jack as Bitty punctuated his sentence with a long kiss.

"But you could feel better, huh?" Bitty asked. Jack nodded. "Your team just made franchise history. I think you need a reward."

Bitty kissed a trail down Jack's skin, from his mouth, onto his neck, onto his collarbone and through his chest hair. He could feel Jack breathing when he began to move down the center line of Jack's abs, and as he did, Bitty began to feel nervous for the first time. They had not done this before, so Bitty had never done this before. He had a good idea of what he needed to do and could imagine what he would want, but when he wrapped his hand around Jack's stiff erection, he was terrified that he'd mess it up.

He swallowed his nerves along with the head of Jack's cock. Jack exhaled a curse immediately and put a hand in Bitty's hair, which was reassuring. Bitty looked back up at Jack; his eyes were closed and his other hand gripped the pillow underneath his head. He looked lost, like Bitty's mouth had transported him somewhere else.

Bitty continued; Jack was far too big to take all the way in his mouth, so whatever he couldn't reach he supplemented with his hand. When his jaw began to ache he let go and began to kiss along the side of Jack's cock, glancing back up at Jack's face. Jack opened his eyes and looked down at Bitty, and he immediately cursed.

"Fuck, Bits," Jack said.

"Is it good?" Bitty asked.

"Yes," breathed Jack.

"How can it be better?" Bitty asked.

"It's good," said Jack with a quick shake of his head. "Maybe go slower."

Bitty took Jack back in his mouth and bobbed slower. Jack's hand in his hair went slack as he breathed deeply and retreated to wherever he had been when Bitty first started. Bitty glanced back up at him and Jack had never looked so relaxed and calm before. There was no reason to feel nervous any longer; Jack would not look like that if Bitty had been doing something wrong. Bitty relaxed as well, taking his time, experimenting with as much as he could take in his mouth, until suddenly Jack gripped his hair and the nerves returned tenfold.

"I'm going to come," said Jack. Bitty pulled off and stroked Jack through it, until Jack came over Bitty's hand and onto his own stomach. Bitty climbed back up Jack's body to kiss him again. Jack responded hungrily, taking control immediately and rolling Bitty onto his back. Bitty laughed at Jack's ferocity just once, because then Jack was between his legs instead, hastily pulling off Bitty's underwear.

"Oh my God," said Bitty when Jack sunk his mouth down onto Bitty's erection. Even with what he had just done to Jack, and what he had imagined this to be for himself, it was nothing compared to the feeling of Jack's mouth actually on him. He was not going to last nearly as long as Jack had.

Jack checked in with him. "You okay?" he asked.

Bitty glanced down between his legs and almost exploded at the sight; Jack continued to stoke Bitty's erect cock in his hand, his lips were wet, and he was still flushed from his own orgasm. As Bitty looked down at him, he slid his tongue up the underside of Bitty's cock. Bitty put both of his hands over his face.

"Holy crap, yes," said Bitty.

Wherever Jack had gone while Bitty had sucked on him, Bitty was now travelling. With his eyes covered, there was no light. He wasn't in Jack's bed any longer, there was no sensation other than Jack's hand and mouth on him. He was right that he wouldn't last very long like this; his orgasm surfaced more quickly than he would have liked, bringing him back into the bedroom.

"Jack," he moaned. "Jack, I'm going to come."

To his surprise, Jack hummed in response and continued, his mouth still wrapped tightly around the head of Bitty's cock. Bitty didn't have time to think anymore as he came. He didn't realize how tense he had been until Jack let go of him and he relaxed into the comfortable mattress of Jack's bed. Jack climbed back on top of him and kissed him delicately.

"Can it always be like this?" Jack asked. "Can I always come home to you?"

Bitty didn't know what to say. It would be wonderful. He would love to live in this bubble for the rest of his life. He wouldn't have to worry if he would succeed or fail as captain when he still had so much to fix, about having to juggle classes and hockey and his senior thesis, about coming out to his parents. He could be Jack Zimmermann's boyfriend — if that's even what he was — and that could be enough. Being the boyfriend of a hockey player was delusional, though, and both of them knew it.

"That would be nice," was all Bitty said. Jack cleaned them both off with a tissue, then they settled under the covers and closed their eyes.

Bitty was just about asleep when Jack spoke, his voice quiet and unsure. "Are you still awake?"

Bitty hummed in response.

"I forgot to tell you. I invited some of the guys over to watch the Aces game tomorrow," Jack said. Bitty opened his eyes and looked up at Jack.

"Oh," said Bitty. "Do you want me here?"

"Yes, absolutely," said Jack. "It's just — I'm only out to Tater. I'm not out to the rest of them. Can we just..." Jack didn't finish, his voice gone, as if the words were painful to say.

"Be friends?" Bitty finished.

"Yeah. I'm sorry. It's not forever. I want to come out to them and I definitely don't want to hide you, but right now? Right before finals? I don't know if this is the time to make it all about me. Is that okay? I don't want you to feel like I don't care about you."

"No, that's fine," said Bitty, rubbing his hand over Jack's chest to reassure him. "Don't come out before you're ready, sweetie."

Jack smiled. "I like that."

"What? Sweetie?" Jack nodded. He had a small, content smile on lips as he did. "Hmm," continued Bitty. "I'll have to do that more. Sweetie. Honey. Sweetpea." Jack burst into giggles. "I can keep going. Pumpkin. Muffin. Peanut."

"Now you're just naming foods," said Jack.

"I am not! Those are all legitimate pet names for you. Which one do you like the best?"

"Sweetpea."

"Sweetpea? Really?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," said Bitty. He gave Jack a short kiss. "Goodnight, sweetpea."

"Goodnight, Bits."

 

***

 

Jack had the next day off. They slept late and then Bitty sat in the study for a few hours to create enough segments to broadcast until the finals began. Jack, who had been working out during that time, pulled Bitty into the bathroom for a shower and then Bitty unearthed every ingredient Jack had in his cupboards to make food for the game. Bitty had initially been worried that "some of the guys" equated to the entire team, but it turned out only to be Marty, Thirdy, Tater, and Poots. Still, Bitty had not interacted with most of them outside of work and was desperate to make a good impression, even if he and Jack were supposed to be just friends. 

Bitty put Jack to work on the simpler items — cheese, crackers, and guacamole — but by the time Wayne started woofing to alert them of intruders, Bitty had pie, brownies, cookies, and four different kinds of dip. The center island was full of food, but Bitty knew it was about to be attacked by five professional athletes, so it was not enough.

"Don't worry, Bits," said Jack. "We'll order pizza if people are hungry."

That did nothing to calm Bitty's nerves. He didn't have time to comment about it before Wayne trotted up the stairs followed by everyone at once.

"Did you all carpool?" asked Jack incredulously.

"Marty and I did," said Thirdy. "We pulled in the same time as Tater here, but Poots was sitting in the driveway like a lost little puppy."

"I didn't want to be the first one inside!" said Poots defensively. Marty burst into uproarious laughter and Poots turned a horrible shade of red. Thirdy deposited the two cases of beer that he had been holding onto the counter and then noticed Bitty for the first time.

"Hey, aren't you that reporter guy from NBC?" Thirdy asked. Bitty faked a smile but before he could reply, Tater had shouted his name.

"B! You are here too! You want more checking practice?"

"Oh Lord no — NO!" Bitty's protests didn't matter; Tater checked him into the refrigerator and Bitty shivered, but to his own surprise, did not react further. Tater then rubbed Bitty's head and laughed, and Bitty quickly tried to recover and fix the mess Tater had made of him.

"Guys, calm down, Bitty's a friend of mine," said Jack. He picked up one of the cases of beer. "I'm going to put this in the fridge downstairs. I don't have room up here for it but we can grab it later if we need it."

"Oh, we'll need it," said Thirdy. Jack opened the door to the basement and disappeared. Tater continued through the kitchen, pausing briefly to grab a brownie, then plopped himself on a couch and turned on the television. Wayne trotted over to him and put his head on Tater's knee. Bitty didn't know what to say to Marty, Thirdy, and Poots, who were looking at Bitty with a mixture of apprehension and self-awareness. Nobody wanted to say anything in front of the reporter.

"So," began Marty. "You and Jack hang out a lot?"

"Yeah, a fair amount," said Bitty with a casual shrug. Marty nodded and nobody else said or did anything. Poots stared at the cookies as if he wanted to take one but was waiting for permission. Bitty glanced at the door to the basement; how long did it take to put beer away? When it was clear no one was going to say anything until Jack returned, Bitty sighed and decided to address the elephant in the room.

"Listen, y'all," he said, "Jack and I are friends. I'm not a reporter right now. The only reason I'm a reporter at all is because I need an internship to graduate from college. It's not like I have my camera with me — well, okay, actually I do, it's upstairs, but I'm not using it! It's just with my stuff and, um..." Bitty closed his mouth and felt the heat rise in his cheeks when he realized his mistake. Marty and Thirdy exchanged an obvious glance and while Poots didn't seem to pick up on the error, Marty and Thirdy were enough.

Jack reappeared from the basement and Bitty nervously walked into the living room to sit near Tater. "So are you going to eat the food or what?" Jack asked. "These cookies are awesome."

"Let me guess, Z, you didn't make any of this," said Marty.

"Nah, Bitty made it all. I did open the guacamole and transferred it from the tub to this little dish here. I didn't even know I had it; Bitty found it in the back of one of the cupboards with the other fancy plates I never use."

Bitty felt his entire face flush hotter as he looked at the television; the puck drop was still over an hour away and he had already managed to completely ruin Jack's only request. Jack was only making it worse.

"Oh, man, these cookies are good," said Thirdy. "Good job, Bitty."

Bitty looked over his shoulder. "Thank you," he said.

"Who you think wins tonight, B?" Tater asked. Bitty looked back over at him and immediately relaxed; it was either due to the knowledge that Tater was the only one Jack was out to, or the fact that Tater himself looked right at home: crumbs on his shirt, reclining against the armrest, one leg up on the coffee table, and his hand on Wayne's head.

"I don't know," said Bitty. "I know they're down by two, but I'm thinking the Schooners still have a shot."

"No way," said Tater. "It'll be Aces for sure."

"But the Schooners already came from behind and won the last two games. They're on fire."

"No," said Tater again. "Aces will win."

Not long after the puck dropped, it seemed that Tater's prediction was correct. The Aces scored twice in the first ten minutes and seemed determined not to let the Schooners into their zone. With what little Bitty knew about the Schooners from their playoff run thus far, they were not the type of team likely to win if momentum was not on their side, and it was difficult for them to regain that momentum if they lost it. Bitty found himself frowning when the first period ended; he didn't want to deal with another packed press box for up to seven games. 

Jack seemed to react the same way. As the game progressed and the food and beer both disappeared, it seemed Tater was the only one pleased with the outcome of the game. Before the third period Jack announced he was going downstairs to retrieve the other case of beer. Bitty wordlessly got up and followed along with Wayne, who pounced down the stairs in front of him.

He found Jack downstairs pressing his head into the refrigerator door with his eyes closed. Wayne began to rub his face on Jack's leg. Even from the bottom of the stairs Bitty could see that Jack was trembling. His chest expanded and retracted more quickly than it should. Bitty kept his distance.

"Are you okay, Jack?" Bitty asked. 

Jack didn't move.

"Of course it's him," said Jack quietly. "It's our first time to the finals and of course it's against him. It's like I can never get away."

"Didn't you say the two of you used to plan it like this?" Bitty asked. "When you were in juniors?"

"That was when we were in juniors," said Jack. He opened the refrigerator door and grabbed the second case of beer. "That was before." Jack slid past Bitty, Wayne hot on his heels, and jogged up the stairs without another word.

The Aces won in regulation, the Schooners saving a shut out by scoring with just three minutes left. The mood in the living room had changed dramatically from the beginning of the game. Marty was sloshed, which was probably why he had driven with Thirdy, who had stopped drinking in the second period. Poots looked fit to drive but Tater very much did not.

"T, you're not driving home," said Jack.

"Poots will drive me home," said Tater.

"You live on the other side of the city!" said Poots.

"You can stay here tonight, T," said Jack. "Everybody else needs to leave, though. You ate all my food and now I want to go to bed."

"Jack, you are, as always, a gracious host," said Thirdy. "See you at practice." Thirdy turned to Bitty and held out his hand. "Bitty. Nice to meet you. Or, well, obviously we've met, but nice to get to know you, I guess. Your pie was amazing. I'm taking this slice for my wife. Peach is her favorite."

"Oh, if peach is her favorite don't give her that garbage," said Bitty. "I've got real Georgia peaches at home. I'll make her a better one and bring it to practice for you."

"Thanks," said Thirdy. "C'mon, Marty. Let's get you home. Don't you dare puke in my car."

"The fucking Aces," Marty said. "I hate the fucking Aces."

"Don't we all," said Thirdy. 

"Not all!" said Tater. "The Aces are good team! Good captain! Good opponent!"

"Yeah, whatever, Tater," said Thirdy. "See you kids tomorrow."

Thirdy ushered Marty out of the house and Poots followed close behind with a wave to Jack and Bitty. Tater was still sprawled out on the couch. He looked at Wayne and patted his chest, then Wayne jumped up on the couch and on top of him.

"T, you know Wayne's not allowed on the couch," said Jack exasperatedly.

"Wayne and I are best couch buddies," said Tater. 

Bitty began picking up plates and empty beer cans. He dropped the plates in the dishwasher and the cans in the recycling bin, then turned on the water at the sink to wash some of the larger serving bowls. As he did, Tater spoke again.

"You and B make cute couple," said Tater to Jack. Bitty immediately looked over to see Jack stiffen from his spot on the couch.

"Was it obvious?" Jack asked.

"Yes," said Tater.

"Crap," replied Jack.

"Don't worry, Zimmboni. Team good people. They like B."

"Well don't make a big deal about it," said Jack. "This is still new."

"B is cute boy," said Tater. "You look happy, Z. Happy look good on you." Jack turned his head and looked back at Bitty, who stood at the sink in the kitchen. Jack smiled and Bitty smiled back; despite his brief foul mood in the basement, Jack did look happy.

After he finished cleaning, Bitty helped Jack negotiate Tater into the guest room instead of the couch. Tater insisted on taking Wayne with him and Jack relented. Once Tater passed out on the guest bed while spooning Wayne, Bitty and Jack went into Jack's room. Bitty was quiet while they brushed their teeth. Jack didn't say anything until they were actually in the bed, and then he turned to Bitty.

"You probably figured it out by now," said Jack. "Parse and I weren't just friends in juniors."

"I assumed," said Bitty.

"It wasn't long," said Jack, "and we only hooked up a few times, but it's something I can never forget because everyone always brings it up. We were together through the draft."

"Did you break up because he went first?" Bitty asked.

Jack shook his head. "A lot of things went wrong in a very short amount of time. I needed someone to blame. It's easier to put it on someone else instead of yourself." Jack placed his hand on Bitty's arm and then looked up into his eyes. "I'm not going to pretend that I'm in the right here. I'm not going to pretend that I was a good person. But regardless of that… I wish I could just move on. I wish I could just have one thing that's mine."

Bitty frowned and snuggled closer to Jack.

"I know I'm not a Stanley Cup. I'm not a trophy or a title or even anything special, but I could be yours," Bitty whispered. "I could be just yours."

Jack pressed a kiss to Bitty's forehead.

"You are," he replied.


	13. Chapter 13

Bitty sat in front of the camera, quiet. It was the middle of the night and Bitty had awoken after a stressful dream and knew, as soon as he opened his eyes, that it was useless to try to go back to sleep. He had detangled himself from Jack carefully, not wanting to disturb him, and padded down the hall to the office to grab his vlog camera. They weren't alone in the house and he was afraid of waking everyone up, so he took the camera down to the porch and turned on as much lighting as he could to be both visible and discreet.

He felt alone. With his friends gone for the summer and this thing with Jack still being new, it didn't feel like there was someone he could turn to at four o'clock in the morning and complain about his life. He looked into the camera and felt like a hypocrite, because everyone on the other side thought he had all of the answers.

"I know I usually don't talk about this," he said, and he frowned before he continued. "I'm not out to my family, and while they have always told me this channel is my thing, and they don't want to betray my privacy, I tend to keep this quiet. And I know when I do talk about it, I've always been an advocate for being yourself and being proud to be yourself, but… God, I don't know how to be myself around them. How do you live your whole life like that? How do you even know who you truly are when you're hiding all the time? My mother is my best friend and I tell her everything. There is no one else on this planet I would rather spend time with, bake with, talk to… but I have never told her and she has no idea. It makes me wonder if I even know her at all. If I can hide something this big for this long, what could she be hiding from me?"

He closed his eyes and took in a long breath. The night here at Jack's house was darker than anywhere he had ever been. Samwell was too close to Boston to be truly dark, and the campus was polluted with light in an effort to keep students safe at all hours. Madison was fairly dark but he lived in a subdivision with street lights. Jack lived next to the ocean with very few neighbors. The island was sparse and the nearest grocery store was a twenty minute drive over a bridge. Despite being a suburb of Providence, Jack lived in near isolation. It was beautiful and it was private, but it was so, so dark.

"This is why I came to Samwell," said Bitty. "I know I've mentioned this before. I could have gone to Georgia for free. They have a decent journalism program, but Georgia is twenty minutes away from Madison and I would have been stuck with the same people in the same places and I would never have grown into a person who could be comfortable. How can you be in a comfortable in a place where people still think you have a disease? Samwell is the place where I was able to say 'I am gay' for the first time in my life. I could be around people who know and understand what I'm feeling and what I'm going through. I am so happy there, but when you see how it can be, how do you ever go home?"

He could feel the tears in his eyes and furiously wiped them away. He was tired. It was late. He was alone and hiding.

"If you're in a place where you can't be yourself, come find your real home. And if you're someone who found home where your family is… tell me how to do it so I can be there too."

 

* * *

 

The morning of the first Stanley Cup Final game, Bitty awoke and found himself alone in Jack's bed. He rubbed his eyes and stretched before he looked at the time. It was still early, early enough that he didn't expect to be alone. He threw back the covers and got out of the bed, which caused Wayne to perk up from his spot on the floor. They were alone in the house, as they had been almost constantly since Bitty temporarily moved in ten days before, but he still did not feel comfortable walking around naked. One of Jack's Providence Falconers T-shirts was on the floor. Bitty picked it up and put it on.

He wandered the second and first floor, Wayne following close behind him, but Jack was nowhere. It was possible he was out running, and Bitty was ready to give up and go back to bed when Wayne bolted toward the kitchen and down the stairs.

"Well hello, puppy." Jack's voice carried into the kitchen. Bitty had never heard Jack address Wayne in such a way. It was adorable and unexpected. Wayne and Jack began up the stairs; Wayne appeared first and Jack behind him, smiling, swatting playfully at Wayne's behind. Jack reached the top of the stairs and noticed Bitty at the counter.

"Hey," Jack said. He was wearing athletic shorts but was not in the least bit sweaty. He had not been running.

"Where did you go?" Bitty asked.

"Oh. I, um, went to the lighthouse," said Jack quietly. He looked down at Wayne and determinedly did not look at Bitty.

"You don't have to be ashamed to go there," replied Bitty. He crossed the room and put both of his hands on Jack's waist. "How are you doing?"

"Better. Still nervous, but better." replied Jack.

"You were nervous last night too," said Bitty.

"It was worse this morning," said Jack. "I woke up a few hours ago and I just… I couldn't shut it off. You know how you just start thinking about how everything could go wrong, and you know it's ridiculous, but it's still there? I think I just fell into a What If spiral and I couldn't get out of it, so I left. I watched the sunrise. I didn't want to wake you."

"You can wake me," said Bitty. "I want you to wake me."

"Maybe next time," said Jack with a sad smile. "This is just a big deal, you know? It's the finals and I'm the captain. The team is looking to me for how to act these next few games and I want to play and win and punch every single one of the Aces right in the face, but at the same time I want to crawl into a hole and never come out."

"Maybe we can find you a happy medium," said Bitty. "Something not so violent."

"I suppose. It's just a lot," Jack said, "a lot to think about. And my parents are coming today and I know my dad means well, but sometimes when he talks —"

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," said Bitty. He stepped out of Jack's arms. "Your parents are coming here?"

Jack's face turned innocent. "I didn't tell you that?"

"No."

"Hey, Bittle, my parents are coming to town today and they're staying here and it'd be cool if you met them —"

"OH MY GOD!" yelled Bitty with such volume that Wayne jumped upright.

"Are you mad?" Jack asked quietly.

"When are they getting here?" Bitty asked.

"This afternoon. After I get home from morning skate."

"OH MY GOD I NEED TO MAKE PIE," yelled Bitty again and he ran toward the refrigerator. Jack caught him around the waist to stop him.

"Calm down, Bitty," said Jack. Bitty fell against Jack's chest. "I'm sorry. I should have told you. They're excited to meet you, though, and you don't have to stay here if it's too much, but I like it so much better when you're here."

Bitty sighed. "I like it better when I'm here too," he said. "You told your parents about me?" Jack nodded. "And they're excited to meet me?" Jack nodded. "Do you want me to meet them?"

"I know it's early, but they were going to come anyway, and as long as you're here, you might as well. They know this is new."

"It is," said Bitty. "I don't… I don't even really know what this is."

"Well we should make it official then," said Jack. "Will you be my boyfriend?"

Bitty smiled. "Of course, sweetpea." Jack leaned in and kissed him.

After a shower, Bitty ran to the store for pie ingredients and spent the majority of the morning in the kitchen. Jack left for his skate and Bitty stayed behind; he had plenty of footage to introduce his segments prior to the start of the game that evening. By the time Jack arrived home, Bitty had two apple pies and a pecan pie cooling on the windowsill and lunch warming in the oven. 

"Hey," said Jack after he gave Bitty a kiss. "My parents just landed so they'll be here in forty-five minutes."

"Oh goodness," said Bitty. "Did they eat?"

"Yes, they ate. Calm down, Bits," said Jack.

Bitty did not calm down. He fretted through lunch and cleaned as a means to pass the time, then completely froze when Wayne bolted down the stairs and began woofing. Jack planted a kiss on Bitty's temple before he also headed out of the room. Bitty waited in the kitchen, gripping a dish towel in both of his hands, while voices carried up the stairs.

"Wayne, quit it."

"Jack, he's fine."

"Wayne, go upstairs. Let me take your suitcase,  _ Maman _ . WAYNE.  _ Maman _ , you're just encouraging him."

"Oh, but he's so adorable."

Bitty tensed at the sound of their feet on the stairs. He purposefully lowered the dish towel and plastered a smile on his face when Jack entered carrying a suitcase, followed by Alicia Zimmermann, who was bent over with her hand on Wayne's back, and finally Bob Zimmermann, holding his own suitcase. Alicia stood up and caught eyes with Bitty first.

"Oh, hello!" she said brightly. Bitty smiled again; it felt very forced. "You must be Eric. I'm Alicia." She approached him with a hand extended. Bitty set down the dish towel and shook her hand. She was taller than him, blonde with eyes just like Jack's, and incredibly beautiful. Behind her stood Bob, similar in almost every way to Jack save his eyes and age. 

"Bob," he said as he also shook Bitty's hand.

"Nice to meet you, sir," said Bitty.

"Jack tells me you're a reporter," said Bob with a gesture back toward his son.

"Sort of," said Bitty. "Even though my internship's done, they still let me film people and put it on the news for some reason."

"For what it's worth, we watched the special you did with Jack. I'm not surprised they still let you on the news," said Bob. Bitty blushed and nodded in thanks. Bob looked around the kitchen as if searching for something. "I heard a rumor that there's pie."

"Bobby, we just walked in the door," said Alicia. "Let's put our suitcases upstairs at least."

"I've got it," said Jack. "You sit and eat."

Bitty served each of them a slice of pie; Bob opted for apple while Alicia chose pecan. Wayne sat at Bitty's feet in the hope that he would also get something, but Bitty ignored him even when a gentle paw landed on his shoe as a reminder that Wayne was there. At the Zimmermanns' insistence, Bitty took a seat with them at the island.

"How long have you and Jack known each other now?" Alicia asked.

"I started at the station in January. We've only been together for a few weeks, though."

"And you're still in college?" Alicia asked.

"Yes," said Bitty. "One more year to go."

"And you're the captain of the hockey team there at Samwell," said Bob.

"I went to Samwell!" said Alicia. "Oh, I didn't know you were at Samwell, Eric! Which dorm do you live in? I lived at Willard."

"Me too!" said Bitty excitedly. "Fourth floor."

"Second floor and then third floor."

"I live in the Hockey Haus now," said Bitty, "but I was there my freshman year. Jack told me you went to Samwell but I had no idea we lived in the same dorm. That's kind of weird."

"It is kind of weird," said Alicia. "I'm assuming you're working the game tonight. I was going to say we could sit and catch up on how different things are now since my day, but I'm assuming you'll have other things on your mind."

"Yeah, I have to work. Tomorrow, though, we can chat about Samwell."

Jack returned and Bitty handed him a piece of pie as well. Jack kissed Bitty in thanks and his parents didn't react. Bitty looked down at his half-eaten pie, no longer hungry for it. If only it could be like this with his parents: he could sit in the kitchen with them and receive a kiss from his boyfriend and they wouldn't care, or at the very most would find it endearing. He could introduce them to Jack and boast about Jack's career and achievements like Jack had clearly done. He could live his life.

He stood up abruptly.

"Speaking of work," said Bitty. "I have to get to the station and pick up my cameraman. I'm so glad I got to spend a few minutes with you before I ran off. I should be back right after the game so I'll see you both then."

"Nice to meet you, Eric," said Bob. "We should talk Samwell. You guys have a good shot at the Frozen Four next season with that freshman from this year. What's his name? Connor Whisk?"

"Yeah, Whisky," said Bitty. He made a mental note to tell Whisky about this conversation in the group chat later — Whisky, who was in general a pretty chill person, would still probably die if he knew that Bad Bob Zimmermann knew his name. Bitty turned to Jack and Jack gave him a quick kiss. "Good luck. I'll see you after."

"Do you have a quick hit with me?" Jack asked.

"Probably not today," said Bitty. "I'll get one sometime this week."

"Okay. See you after." Jack kissed him one more time before Bitty ran upstairs for his equipment and then out the door with another wave to Jack and his family.

He didn't need to leave so early. The station was on the way to the arena, and picking up Ian would just take a few minutes. He drove straight there regardless and parked his truck in his usual spot. He glanced at the front entrance and sighed; it was still an hour before he and Ian needed to leave. He took in a deep breath and picked up his phone, his hands already shaking at the thought of how this conversation might go.

"Hey Mama," Bitty said as sweetly as he could. The shaking hadn't reached his voice. He gripped the steering wheel in order to stop seeing it in his left hand.

"Honey, long time no talk!" said Suzanne. On a normal day her familiar southern drawl was reassuring. In that particular moment he felt further away from her than he had even been, sitting in his truck in Rhode Island, surrounded by people who needed to hurry everywhere. "I swear this job has got you working to the bone. I never hear from you anymore."

"I know," said Bitty. "I'm sorry. I have a couple of minutes before we need to leave for the game tonight so I thought I'd call you and catch up. How's Coach?"

Suzanne launched into a long speech about Coach's summer plans, when camp for the football team would start, and then transitioned easily into the Fourth of July barbeque that Aunt Judy was planning and how it was only May, but for some reason Suzanne needed to tell Judy exactly what she wanted to bring so Judy could coordinate dishes with the rest of the family. Bitty listened and waited for an opportunity to cut in with a quick  _ by the way I'm gay, _ but the opportunity never presented itself. He hadn't calmed and Suzanne had been speaking for fifteen minutes.

"That reminds me, Dicky," said Suzanne, "we have got to nail down your flight home. Even if the Falconers go all seven games, you've still got until what, mid-June? That's not very long from now and you know the longer you wait the more it costs to get here. Unless you think the truck can make the drive back."

"It's still up in the air when I'll be able to come home. Game seven is June twelfth, but I don't know if they're going to need me to stay at the station longer than that to wrap up. If we win — Lord I don't want to jinx it or anything — but if we win there's the parade, and even if not, there's still locker clean out day…"

"Dicky," said Suzanne. Her voice wasn't severe but Bitty still tensed at the admonishment.  "I've been trying to talk to you about this for months. It's exciting that you're getting to report on all of these things even after your contract is up, but the more I talk to you, the more it sounds like you just don't want to come home."

Bitty gripped the steering wheel of the truck tightly in his left hand.

"No, Mama, of course I want to come home, but this is a huge opportunity. I don't want to mess it up. Savannah mentioned something about keeping in touch with her, so there's a possibility that I might get a job here, but nothing's set in stone. And... and I like it here, Mama. I like Savannah and the team, and… and Jack."

"Where are you even staying now?" Suzanne asked. "At the house all by yourself?"

"Well…"

"The team moved out two weeks ago. Are you going to stay there all alone all summer?"

"Well, maybe not. Jack —"

"Jack is a professional hockey player, Dicky. Even if the season's over, he doesn't have time to spend with you until August, and I wouldn't want you imposing on him for so long."

"I wouldn't stay all summer, Mama, but maybe for a while. See, Jack's… Jack's…"

"Jack is a very busy man, sweetie, and I know you and him have become friends these past few months, but that's a lot to ask of someone you barely know."

"I know him, Mama."

His distraction didn't work. He trembled so violently he could barely hold his phone to his ear. He caught a glimpse of himself in the rear view mirror and could see the horror in his own eyes. He was pale and green, the shade that preceded vomit. He didn't want to throw up in this truck, not with everything else it had been through. He opened the door and stepped outside, but his knees buckled and he sat back down.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," said Suzanne.

"Okay," said Bitty and he quickly placed his hand over his mouth; the shakes had reached his voice.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" Suzanne asked.

"I — it's just a lot, Mama," he said. "It's been really stressful and I know I passed my TM and I'm just here because they wanted me to stay, but it's still so much. Jack… Jack's…"

"Jack what?"

Bitty squeezed his eyes closed. The words were right there.  _ Jack's my boyfriend.  _

He couldn't do it.

"Jack's been a really good friend," he said pathetically. His shoulders slumped and he put his hand over his eyes. He was ashamed of himself. It wasn't supposed to be this hard. It was three words.

"I'm glad, sweetie. Still doesn't make it okay for you to invite yourself over for the summer. I'd like to think I raised you better than that."

"You did," whispered Bitty. "Listen, Mama, I've got to go. We have to get to the game."

"Okay. Don't be a stranger. We'll talk about summer."

He didn't say goodbye before he hung up the phone. He closed the door to his vehicle, rested his head on the wheel, and cried.

 

***

 

Bitty stayed in the car for a half an hour until he felt calm enough to enter the building. He headed upstairs toward Ian's desk, which was located near Michael's office. Bitty walked right by Michael's open door but wasn't three feet away before he heard his name.

"Eric, come in here!"

He closed his eyes. Every conversation with Michael since the ESPN interview had been frustrating and Bitty was too raw with emotion to have to sit through another speech about how he should be fired but wouldn't be, or how he had to remember he worked for NBC, not the Providence Falconers. 

Bitty entered Michael's office and shut the door. He sat in a chair with his bag in his lap. "What's up?" Bitty asked.

"You and Ian headed to the arena?"

"Yep," said Bitty.

"You're going to change, correct?" Bitty looked down at his clothes; he was wearing slacks and a dress shirt with the top three buttons undone.

"Yeah, I have a tie and a blazer at my desk that I'll wear on air."

"Make sure you vary it up. People remember what you wear," said Michael. "And you need to do something about your eyes. You looked stoned."

"I am not stoned," said Bitty, but he knew exactly why Michael thought he was.

"Just fix that before you show your face to viewers. Listen, I don't have time to mince words here. Ian complained about you."

"What?" Bitty asked. "Why?"

"This isn't the first time either, but if we want a presence at the only major sports team in town, I can't touch you, so I told him to suck it up. But he said something again this morning. About your relationship with Jack Zimmermann."

Bitty's mouth tightened. "My relationship?" he asked.

"My job is to report the news, Eric. People wake up in the morning or come home from work, they turn on the TV, and they care about three things: what's the weather, am I safe, and what's up with my team. You handle the third one. People care about their team. They care about the players on their team. They care what their players are doing. And some of them? They care  _ who _ their players are doing. You're sitting on a big story, here, Eric, and it's only a matter of time before you stop reporting the news and start becoming the news. Do you get me?"

Bitty nodded.

"I'm not asking you to change anything," said Michael. "If you have a relationship with Jack Zimmermann, then that's your thing. But other people are catching on, and if Ian sees it, you bet the other networks see it too. I want this story on my station. I don't want to turn on CBS or ESPN and find out my field reporter is fucking the first gay man in hockey."

Bitty could feel his blood begin to boil under his skin but he had no idea what to say. He gripped his messenger bag in his fists and remained silent.

"This is my network and this is my story. So do what you want, but bring it back to me," Michael said.

"You want me to out Jack Zimmermann," said Bitty. His voice sounded eerily calm for the rage that was coursing through his veins.

"He'll be outed before the Cup ceremony. I want NBC 10 to say it first."

Bitty stood up. "No, Michael," he said.

"Don't make me regret keeping you as long as I have."

"I'm fairly certain I'm the best thing that's happened to this network in years," said Bitty. "I am not outing Jack Zimmermann. No one is outing Jack Zimmermann. There's no story here."

"Sure," said Michael. "Get out of my office. You have work to do."

Bitty gladly left. He stomped over to Ian's desk. Ian looked up at him and immediately frowned. "Looks like Mike talked to you," Ian said.

"He did," said Bitty. "Let's go, it's going to be a zoo."

"Listen, Eric --"

"I have nothing to say to you," said Bitty. He didn't wait for Ian before he picked up his blazer and tie from his desk and headed out to the news van. Ian didn't speak as Bitty drove them to the arena, and Bitty was grateful for it. He gripped the steering wheel in both hands and looked forward the entire thirty minute drive to the Dunkin Donuts Center, where he parked and slammed the door on his way out.

It didn't matter that they were early. The press box was packed already with both home and away crews. Ian snagged the last two available seats and spoke to Bitty for the first time. "You should try to get something with Kent Parson," said Ian.

Bitty frowned. It had been a tumultuous day already and the very last thing Bitty wanted to do was talk to Jack's ex-boyfriend. It was, however, a good idea, so he picked up his notebook and a tupperware container of pecan pie before he headed off to Savannah's office. The door was closed, as he expected, but his usual manners had flown out the window when Michael asked him to turn himself into a story. He opened the door and spotted Savannah just as she disappeared from sight.

"It's just me," he said, and he closed the door behind him. Savannah popped her head out from underneath the desk.

"Oh," she said. "Sorry. It has been insane since the moment the Aces scored the first goal in game six. I had to disconnect the phone." Bitty glanced at Savannah's desk phone. It was unplugged and the display was blank. "Come hide with me."

"That sounds like a great idea," said Bitty. He dropped his notebook on the desk and climbed underneath it with Savannah. She'd spread out a blanket on the floor. When Bitty held out the tupperware for her, she opened a drawer and pulled out two forks. He removed the lid and took a fork from her. They leaned against the desk, facing her window, and ate the pie together.

"I'm assuming you wanted something," said Savannah after one slice was gone and they started on the second.

"I want to talk to Parse," said Bitty. "Well. I don't  _ want _ to talk to Parse, but I should talk to Parse."

"I can probably give you a quick hit. I'm assuming you don't want to talk to him after the game?" Bitty shook his head. "I'll make it happen." They continued to eat the pie until it was gone. Bitty replaced the lid and tossed it up onto the surface of the desk. He rested against the wood behind his head and closed his eyes.

"You okay, Eric?" she asked. "I know why I'm under here. Why are you under here?"

"It's been a very crazy day," said Bitty.

"Talk to me." Bitty opened his eyes and looked over at Savannah. He very much liked her but they had never spoken like this, just two people hiding under a desk before game one of the Stanley Cup Final, avoiding their responsibilities together. He was still very aware, however, that Savannah was the Director of Communications for the Providence Falconers, and no matter what part of his day he chose to complain about, she would know something he didn't want her to know.

He sighed. He needed somebody right now and she was there with him.

"Mike wants me to turn Jack into a story."

"That's your job, Eric," said Savannah.

"No," said Bitty. "He wants me to turn  _ me and Jack _ into a story."

Savannah frowned. "Is there a story to be told?" she asked. She knew the answer to the question already; she'd warned Bitty of it weeks ago. Bitty nodded only once. "Are you going to tell it?"

"No. Absolutely not. That's not why I'm here. I play hockey. I like hockey. I just wanted to do something fun for my TM. I didn't think it would turn into all of this."

"Do you want to keep working there after the season is over?"

Bitty shook his head. "If that's what local news is like, I don't want to do it."

"Good," said Savannah. "You're so much better than that."

"Thanks, Savannah," said Bitty. He reluctantly crawled out from under the desk. "I should probably stop hiding."

"Close my door on the way out. If anyone asks, I'm not here and they should have made their requests earlier."

"Sorry," said Bitty.

"Not you, Eric," said Savannah. "The rest of them. You I like."

"I like you too," said Bitty. "See you later."

Bitty returned to the press box in time to collect Ian and set up outside the arena. The live segment introductions were awkward, as usual, but more so now that Bitty had to stand in front of the Dunkin Donuts Center in his suit and tie and look directly at Ian. Ian was professional; he picked good angles and rehearsed intros, but every time Bitty saw Ian's face, he wanted to puke. He reminded himself it was just a few more days before the end of the series. No more than seven games. He had to do this no more than seven times, and he got a free trip to Las Vegas out of it.

"On air in two," said Ian. Bitty smoothed out his blazer, adjusted his tie, and stood up straight. Through his earpiece he could hear the news anchors back in the station ribbing each other during the commercial break. It was light-hearted and familiar, as if they really cared about each other. Bitty looked at Ian again. Ian had been a steady presence at NBC 10 since January, but Bitty did not care about him.

He tensed slightly when the anchors came back on air and began to speak. "The Stanley Cup Playoffs are coming to an end and for the first time our own Providence Falconers have made it to the finals. Live at the Dunkin Donuts Center is field correspondent Eric Bittle."

Bitty forced his media smile onto his face — pleasant but not excited. 

"Eric, tell us what we can expect from game one," said one of the anchors.

"Well, Maria, you can always expect something exciting when the Falconers play the Las Vegas Aces. Despite being in separate conferences, the rivalry between these two teams is both long and intense." Bitty regretted saying it as soon as it came out of his mouth. He did not want to be yet another reporter contributing to the rivalry that didn't really exist. However, this was what he rehearsed, and he continued on quickly. "Regardless of that, you have two very physical and emotional teams. Expect a lot of hits, a lot of anger, and a lot of great hockey. Momentum will be key for the Falcs to swing this series in their favor early on. Yesterday after practice I spoke with Captain Jack Zimmermann about how to do just that."

Bitty kept his media face until he heard Jack speaking through his earpiece. His lips pursed together sourly as he looked directly at Ian. He knew the footage that he had edited together. He knew how Jack had looked at him when he asked about momentum. He knew that Ian knew it too. Ian looked back at Bitty stoically until the clip ended.

"The puck drops tonight at seven o'clock. From the Dunkin Donuts Center, Eric Bittle, NBC 10." 

Ian nodded and lowered the camera. Bitty turned off his microphone first before he unbuttoned his blazer and headed back inside. After the first period ended, the Aces were already up by two. From what Bitty could see of Jack on the jumbotron, he had retreated to staring into space while on the bench instead of reviewing plays or talking to his linemates, and Bitty wished he'd asked for a quick hit with Jack as well. It would have been too much to ask of Savannah, a local reporter getting an interview with the star from each team, so he instead sat in the press box and hoped Jack could turn it around on his own.

It didn't happen. At the end of the second the Falconers had scored a fluke goal but were still down by three, and Bitty stood at the rampway waiting for Kent Parson, gripping his microphone and still unsure what to ask. Providence viewers didn't like Parse. Bitty was afraid he'd gloat. Bitty had time for two questions and he took in a deep breath before Kent approached.

"We've got one more period to go. What's the strategy for the third?" Bitty asked.

"I think we just need to keep our momentum up, focus on keeping possession time in our favor and remove chances for the Falcs. We can't check out now because they'll take every opportunity we give them."

"The Falconers are a formidable opponent and they've got the home ice advantage. How are you preparing for the rest of the series?"

"Well home ice doesn't guarantee a win," said Kent with a crooked smile that made Bitty feel uncomfortable, "but it's not a good idea to focus too far ahead. It's one game at a time. Let's get a win here tonight and defend it tomorrow."

"Thanks, Kent."

"Thanks."

Bitty turned off his microphone and expected Kent to walk away, but he didn't. Bitty looked awkwardly up at him.

"Um, did you have more to say?" Bitty asked.

"You and Zimms are friends, right?" Kent asked. Bitty stiffened.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You and Jack. You're, like, friends or whatever." From the look in Kent's eye, Bitty knew that "friends" was not the term he meant to use. Bitty just nodded and didn't elaborate. "Hmm. You know you kind of look like me."

"I don't look anything like you," said Bitty.

"No, you kind of do," said Kent. "I mean you're clearly not a hockey player —"

"I'm the captain of a D1 team," said Bitty defensively. "And you don't know a thing about me."

"Yeah," said Kent with a nod. "You and Jack are definitely friends. See you around." Kent trounced off toward the dressing room. Bitty watched him go, strutting in his skates like he was the most important person in the building. When he was gone, Bitty turned and immediately caught eyes with Ian. Ian was the last person Bitty wanted to witness that conversation.

"I don't know what you think you just heard," said Bitty, "but there's no story here. I am not a story."

Ian didn't reply and Bitty hurriedly walked away.

The third period was all defense from the Aces. No more goals were scored and the Falcs lost the game four to one. The atmosphere in the dressing room was quiet and somber. Bitty stood in front of Jack with his microphone out and made no attempt to cheer him; nothing would change the result of the game and nothing but a good night's sleep would allow the team to look forward. It was disappointing, however, that Jack never looked at him, even after the interview was over.

Bitty grabbed a few sound bites from the rest of the team, including Tater, who seemed to be the only one in good spirits. "Is one game," Tater said with a smile on his face. "Stanley Cup is hardest trophy to win in all of sports. You must fight for it. We fight hardest team in the league all the way until the end to win our first Cup."

Even with the quick hit with Kent, Tater had the best quote out of everyone, so when Bitty returned to Jack's house that evening he went straight into the office and teed up the footage on his computer to clip together a segment to run the following day. He'd made it home before Jack or Jack's parents, which was nice. Jack's parents were friendly but Bitty was out of manners. He'd even kicked Wayne out of the room and shut the door. He felt guilty as soon as he did it, but Wayne only woofed once and then trotted away.

He had to include Kent's footage even though looking at Kent's face again just made him feel sick. The more Bitty looked at him, the more he realized that Kent was right. They did look alike. There were obvious differences, of course, but the similarities were still there: both blonde, both on the smaller side in terms of weight and height, noses that turned up at the end. Bitty pushed the thought aside like he did everything else that happened that day — officially becoming Jack's boyfriend, meeting Jack's parents, failing at coming out to his mother, getting turned into a story by his boss, the Falconers loss, and Kent Parson — and instead moved onto finding clips from the game to highlight both Kent and Tater's interviews.

There was a fair amount of interaction to pull from, but Bitty had to use raw game footage rather than the NHL highlight reels to grab what he wanted. The highlight reels focused on the goals and a few of the bigger hits, but none of them included both Kent and Tater. Bitty followed the two of them through most of their shifts and quickly noticed a trend. When the puck was on the ice they were fine, playing against each other as forward and defenseman should, but once play was over, they avoided each other. It wasn't how most of the Falconers avoided the Aces. The play stopped and they skated as far from each other as possible.

He had enough footage to finish his segments, so he saved the clips he wanted to use and then played through each mutual shift, intrigued by their behavior. Tater had said nothing but good things about the Aces since the match up was decided. This made no sense. Bitty continued to watch, his cheek resting on his fist, and heard Jack and his parents return to the house. He ignored all of the activity from downstairs and turned up the volume on the game, but neither Kent nor Tater were mic'd, so it didn't help.

He paused the footage at the start of the first TV time out of the third period. Tater and Kent were both on the ice when a puck was caught and held by Snowy and the broadcast went to commercial. The pair skated to the boards to make room for the ice crew and for the first time since the beginning of the game, they stood next to each other while play was dead.

Kent tapped the boot of Tater's skate with his stick and Tater smiled at him.

"You have got to be shitting me," said Bitty out loud.

Bitty replayed it three times to make sure he wasn't misinterpreting it, but there was no way he was wrong. Nothing else happened and no words were exchanged during the remainder of the commercial break, and when it was over they returned to their spots as usual.

The door behind him opened and Bitty jumped. Jack stood on the other side. "There you are," he said quietly. "Are you working?"

"Just finishing up," said Bitty. "Are you going to bed?"

"Yeah," said Jack. "I'm ready for today to be over."

"I hear you," said Bitty. Jack entered the room and closed the door behind him. He looked at Bitty's computer; Bitty had paused the footage but Kent and Tater still took the whole of his screen. Jack's eyebrows furrowed.

"What are you doing?" he asked darkly.

"I had a quick hit with Parse and Tater gave a great quote, so I was just looking for footage of them from the game," said Bitty. "They're… they're kind of weird together, aren't they?"

"Hmm," said Jack. Bitty looked up at him.

"What?" Bitty asked.

"Nothing," said Jack. "You're right. They're weird together. Will you come to bed?"

"Yeah, just let me save," said Bitty. He quickly shut down everything and headed with Jack to the bedroom. Jack took off his shirt and climbed right in. Bitty stopped at the window and opened it, then joined him. Bitty cuddled up to him, placing his head on Jack's chest, and closed his eyes. Jack touched his back gently and put his lips into Bitty's hair.

"How was your day?" Jack asked.

"Awful," said Bitty. He didn't bother to ask how Jack's day went. He knew the answer.

"How so?" Jack asked.

"I just…" Bitty sighed and placed his chin on Jack's chest to look up at him. Jack looked exhausted but interested. "I tried to come out to my mom today. It didn't work."

"I'm sorry," Jack said. He brushed his finger down the bridge of Bitty's nose and Bitty sighed, resting his head again on Jack's chest but still looking up at him.

"Was it hard for you?" Bitty asked.

"I told you, they figured it out," said Jack. "And by figure it out, I mean walked in on it happening."

"Oh, right," said Bitty, crinkling his nose. "At least it was over, though. You didn't have to say it."

"I don't think they were surprised, but I wish I could have told them first. It would have been better coming from me."

"I suppose," said Bitty. "And if that wasn't enough, Mike was just a huge douchebag, as usual. He said he wanted —" Bitty paused and realized what he was about to say. He and Jack had only argued once during their acquaintance, and in that moment Jack had accused him of doing exactly what Michael had asked him to do.

"What?" Jack asked.

"Mike asked me to turn you into a story. Ian told him about us — about what he suspects about us."

Jack was quiet but didn't remove his fingers from Bitty's skin. He made no attempt to leave or place distance between them. Instead he sighed and held Bitty tighter.

"Do you want to?" Jack asked.

"No!"

"Maybe it would be easier," Jack said. "You don't have to say it."

"No, Jack," said Bitty. "That's the last thing I want. You're not a story. I'm not in this to play you that way. I care about you. I want to be with you."

"I know," Jack said. "I just wonder how long we can hide."

"Forever," said Bitty. "Until you decide you want to change."

Jack reached over to the side of the bed and turned off the light. The darkness engulfed the two of them. Bitty readjusted his head on Jack's chest and closed his eyes. They were quiet, basking in the breeze from the ocean, the scent of its air, and fell asleep with each other.

 

***

 

The Falconers lost game two as well. Bitty and Jack packed silently in the bedroom for their flight to Las Vegas. Jack did not say a word after the game and despite his parents' best attempts at conversation over breakfast, he said nothing there as well. Bitty kept up chatter with Alicia, talking about Samwell and the campus and nothing that had to do with hockey.

Jack's flight was first. Bitty gave him a long kiss before he left. Bitty went into the kitchen to make a few snacks for the road, knowing that at some point Jack would ask for them. Bob sat in the kitchen with him while he cooked and Alicia sat nearby, petting Wayne. Bitty was slicing plantains on a mandolin to bake in the oven when Bob started talking.

"We're not going to Vegas," he said. "We came out to watch the home games, but there is a possibility that the Aces could sweep."

"Oh Lord, I certainly hope not," said Bitty.

"But it is a possibility," said Bob. "I think Jack is steeling himself up for that possibility, but he's never been good at staying in control when things get really hard. Wayne is here for a reason." Bitty looked across the kitchen at Alicia and Wayne on one of the couches. Alicia had invited Wayne to hop up as soon as Jack was out the door.

"Should I bring him with me?" Bitty asked.

"You're travelling with coworkers, aren't you?" Bob asked. "The one thing Jack isn't shy about is showing off pictures of Wayne. I think they'll make the connection."

"Oh," said Bitty. "Right."

"I know you two don't know each other that well yet," continued Bob, "but you'll be with him if they do sweep. The best thing you can do is just be there. It doesn't seem like a lot, but it's enough. We'll still be here when you two come home."

"Okay," said Bitty. "Thank you."

Bob's advice didn't help Bitty feel less nervous, though, as he and Ian travelled across the country to Vegas. Bitty had never been there before and had been excited to see it, but as they descended and he could see the Strip, he wished he entered with better footing. He had originally planned to take the day and tour casinos, but after they landed and checked in, he just wanted to stay in his room until it was time to work again.

He sent Jack a text with his room number and Jack knocked on his door within minutes. Jack kissed him just once at the door and then flopped on the bed. Bitty sat next to him.

"I made plantain chips," said Bitty. "Do you want some?"

"Maybe later," said Jack.

It was the most Jack had said all day. Jack was quiet and his face unreadable, expressionless. Bitty kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed.

"What are you doing?" Jack asked.

"Laying on you," said Bitty. He spread his body out on top of Jack the best he could, his legs on top of Jack's legs, his torso on top of Jack's torso. Jack let out a brief incredulous laugh.

"Stop it. You're not Wayne."

"Nope," said Bitty. He reached up and gently kissed Jack on the lips. "I'm better."

"Yes, you are," said Jack. Bitty kissed him again. He could feel Jack relax under him as they continued, up until the moment when Jack grabbed him around the waist and flipped them over so Jack was on top instead. Bitty laughed and Jack laughed with him, just briefly, before diving in again.

The Falconers won five to nothing.


	14. Chapter 14

"I don't want to be one of those people who flaunts their relationship, or starts a relationship and stops talking about everything else. But I think in this case, it's something that should be addressed."

Bitty looked at his camera and frowned. He sat in the office in Jack's house, where he'd been hiding since the final game of the series. He wanted to go home to Georgia, see his family, and sit on the front porch with his mother. There was a lot to do before that could happen: he would have to leave Providence; he would have to return the NBC 10 equipment; he would have to actually talk to his mother. That was still a media circus away.

"Have you ever been in a situation where you're with someone and it feels like the two of you are the only people in the world? Like you live in some a magical place with only the two of you and nothing else matters? It's happened to us a lot. Those few moments right before you really wake up, before work and chores and life gets in the way. You open your eyes and there he is, and you're the only ones who exist." Bitty looked away wistfully but his eyes landed on his phone as it buzzed yet again. The Stanley Cup Finals had only been over for a few hours, and not only had he been replaced, but Jason Davis had not stopped texting him. He flipped over his phone so he didn't have to look at the increasingly abusive messages.

"But then you separate, you look away, and you realize you aren't. There is a great big world out there and you have to face the consequences of what you did when you were naive enough to think that you were alone. So please forgive me if I'm a little out of pocket these new few weeks. I have a lot of consequences to think about."

Bitty reached forward to turn off the camera, then paused.

"And just in case you're wondering if all of this is worth it? If I would do it again? Yes. Absolutely. He is worth every moment."

 

* * *

 

      **Lardo**  
     Bruh are you ever going to come see my new place  
  
      **Lardo**  
     Or did Lord Stanley eat your soul

Bitty looked at his phone and then at the time. He had ten minutes until his in-studio broadcast. He'd never reported alongside the anchors before, but when he arrived at the station following practice, Michael stopped him in the hallway and told him to fix his face because he would be on air that night. Bitty was then ushered into the office of the in-house sports anchor, Todd Gagne, where he was briefed for their report and then ushered right back out again.

      **Bitty**  
     Yeah I'll stop by after work  
  
      **Bitty**  
     Watch me on TV if you can! I'm on in ten!

Bitty left his phone in his desk and headed to the broadcast room. He stood offstage with Todd until the commercial break, when Todd turned to him.

"Ready, kid?" he asked.

Bitty knew very little about Todd, but from the looks of him, he was once a football player. He was near retirement (or at least that was what Jason had once said back in January), completely bald, and wore thin wire glasses on the bridge of his nose as he looked over the script for the teleprompter. Bitty also had a copy in his hand. He probably should look at it.

"Sure," said Bitty. He pulled at the edges of the sleeves of his blazer and tried not to think about how different this felt compared to every other live broadcast he'd done. He spent the entirety of the playoffs introducing each game from in front of the stadium, so live TV was not unfamiliar to him, but there was something different about being in the room with the primetime news anchors. Everyone in Providence knew their names, and Bitty shuddered to think that people probably knew his name as well.

Bitty set down his script on a table offscreen and followed Todd to their mark on the left of the two anchors, Darryl and Maria. Todd repositioned Bitty so he was to the side of their green screen but still within frame, then placed his own script on the desk in front of him. A man next to the primary camera counted down time back from commercial and Bitty tensed when Darryl began to speak.

"We're just one day away from knowing the outcome of the Stanley Cup Finals as our very own Providence Falconers take on the Las Vegas Aces for game seven of the series. Todd Gagne is here with field correspondent Eric Bittle — Todd, tell us how the Falcs will do."

Todd smiled in a soothing sort of way when the camera angle changed to the two of them. "I can say without a doubt that tomorrow night's game is going to be interesting. Eric, the Falcs lost their first two games at home, then won three in a row before their overtime loss in Vegas last night. It was a controversial call — Head Coach Greg Nowicki is still staying the Aces were offside."

"It was extremely close," said Bitty, and his comment teed up the footage from overtime the night before where Jeff Troy and Kent Parson entered the offensive zone; Jeff controlled the puck and Kent had one skate over the line and one just on it as the puck crossed. "You can see from this angle that the puck is crossing the line at almost the same time that Kent Parson's left skate crosses. I personally think Kent's skate crosses first, but it was reviewed by the referee staff and by Toronto, and both say onside."

"So what do the Falcs have to do tomorrow to bring this home for Providence?"

"Seize momentum," said Bitty. "Score the first goal. Every game this series has been won by the team who scored the first goal. That first one stays with you. It changes your confidence. Our boys have to keep their confidence and they'll bring home the Cup."

"Who should we be watching?"

"The hottest rookie in the NHL, John Fitzgerald," said Bitty. "He's led the league in playoff points and has been on fire since the first round. He set the franchise record in playoff goals during the Eastern Conference Final and has four just this series. I would be surprised if he doesn't have a big game."

"Who else?" Todd asked.

"Jack Zimmermann, of course," said Bitty and he suppressed the natural smile that came to his lips when he spoke Jack's name. "You put the pressure on Jack and he responds. He's worked his entire career to get here. Expect something huge from him tomorrow."

"And from the Aces?"

"Kent Parson. You think of the Aces and you think of Kent Parson. He's dangerous and he's persistent. Our defense has to shut him down and keep him out of our zone, otherwise he'll make chances and get one by. Shut down Kent Parson, win the Cup."

"Thank you, Eric. The puck drops on game seven of the Stanley Cup Final at eight o'clock here on NBC 10." The camera shifted to the left and once Bitty was out of frame, he stepped quietly off the set as Todd continued on to baseball.

Bitty didn't linger for feedback; one more game and he was done with the station. As much as he had enjoyed his time with the Falconers organization, and how happy he was to have met Jack, he was so ready to be done. He grabbed his phone from his desk and he hung up his coat and tie on a hook while he looked at his missed texts. He had several, as expected:

      **Mama**  
     Look at you! My professional little baby boy on TV!

Bitty rolled his eyes.

      **Jack**  
     I'm offended you said Poots before me.

Bitty rolled his eyes a second time.

      **Lardo**  
     Dude. You're so cute I want to puke.

Lardo also included her address. When Bitty put it in his phone he realized she was just a few blocks away from the Dunkin Donuts Center. It made sense; she would be attending RISD for their grad program in the fall, and RISD was within walking distance. The visual of her apartment in relation to the arena caused an idea to pop into his head, and he sent a quick text to Savannah before he got into his truck.

Bitty arrived at Lardo's apartment an hour later after at quick stop at Savannah's office and the pizza place across the street. Lardo buzzed him upstairs and when he opened the door he was quickly attacked not only by Lardo, but by Shitty as well. He held the pizza high above his head to prevent it from falling on the floor.

"Oh, Lord, at least let me inside first," said Bitty. Shitty let go and Bitty took the opportunity to return Lardo's hug. He rarely was in a situation where he could hug someone smaller than him, so he relished Lardo hugs whenever they were available. 

Lardo's apartment was small but cozy, the opposite of Jack's house along the sea. Jack's apartment was bright, with white and blue walls and unshaded windows in every room. Lardo's apartment, still sparsely decorated, faced another building and so far all of Lardo's furniture was dark brown. Her couch was comfortable, though, when Bitty sat down on it. He dropped the pizza on her coffee table.

"You'll have to give me a tour," said Bitty.

"Pizza and deets first," said Lardo.

"Deets? What deets?" Bitty asked.

"Jack Zimmermann!" said Lardo. "The last I hear from you is OMG JACK ZIMMERMANN KISSED ME and I'm dying. It's been weeks. Spill."

"Oh," said Bitty. He could feel his cheeks flush and suddenly felt warm all over. "Yeah. He kissed me."

"And?" yelled Shitty.

"And he still kisses me," said Bitty quietly. He opened up the box of pizza and took a bite from a slice so he didn't have to say anything else.

"Bruh, you are the worst at deets," said Shitty. "I'm still in awe that he kissed you at all. Jack Zimmermann. Well, I'm glad that ass is being put to good use, because it would be a shame if no one ever tapped that." Bitty choked on his pizza and started coughing, so Shitty clapped him on the back.

"Listen, I can't talk about it," said Bitty. "He's not out. His parents know and that's pretty much it. It's not like me where I'm out to everyone… well… except my parents."

"Any luck there, bro?" Lardo asked. Bitty shook his head.

"No. I tried a few days ago but it didn't work. It's just — I don't know what to say to them. I know I can just text my mother at any time and just say it and it'll be done, but I look at my phone and I freeze up. I talk to her and I freeze up. It's a million times harder now with Jack. She keeps asking me when I'm coming home but I don't want to go home and have to hide him on top of everything else. It was difficult enough just being gay while I was single."

"Then don't go home," said Lardo with a shrug. "You've only got a year left anyway. It's not like you're going back to Georgia after graduation."

"Where am I going to stay? The Haus is empty. I've been staying with Jack since everyone else left —" Shitty made an obscene noise and Bitty hit him. "— but I can't stay with him after the finals. We've only been together for a couple of weeks. I don't like the idea of spending the summer all the way in Georgia and away from him, but I'm not going to be that clingy boyfriend who moves in and never leaves."

"Stay here," said Lardo with a shrug.

"Here?" asked Bitty. He looked around. There wasn't a lot of space.

"I've got two bedrooms," said Lardo. "Bring your crap here and stay the summer. We'll have to move your bed but we could figure it out. It's only a couple of months until school starts again."

"That's a lot to offer, Lardo," said Bitty. "I can't impose —"

"Bruh. I've made my decision. You're living here with me. Get your shit."

"After finals," said Bitty. "Speaking of which — what are you guys doing tomorrow?"

"Ransom and Holster are coming over after work and we're watching it here," said Lardo. "Shits is providing nourishment in the form of Chinese takeout."

"Oh," said Bitty with a frown. He pulled an envelope out of his back pocket. "I guess if you guys have plans already you probably won't want these —" 

Shitty jumped off the couch. "OH MY GOD BRAH ARE THOSE TICKETS TO THE STANLEY CUP FINAL? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?"

Shitty snatched the envelope out of Bitty's hand and pulled out four tickets. Lardo squealed the sort of sound rarely associated with anything other than baby animals, then yanked one of them out of Shitty's hands.

"Bitty. These seats. How did you get us so close?"

"I called in a favor," said Bitty. "Their director of PR has eaten a lot of baked goods this season."

"You are the best friend I have ever had!" yelled Lardo and she threw herself on Bitty. He laughed as he hugged her back. Shitty continued to stare at the tickets in his hand in disbelief. He looked like he was going to cry. Bitty waited and then there it was, a single tear down Shitty's cheek that he wiped away with a loud sniff.

"Bro," he said. "I love you."

"I love you too, Shitty," said Bitty, and then suddenly Shitty was on top of him too.

Bitty didn't stay long after dinner. Game seven was just a day away and he wanted to spend this final night before the results with Jack. He promised Lardo he'd text her a move-in date but after Bitty handed over tickets, he lost most of their attention. When he arrived home the house was dark, and Bitty ran inside, hoping that he hadn't missed Jack falling asleep.

Wayne did not greet him at the door, which was not a good sign. Bitty kicked off his shoes and ran up the stairs and straight into the bedroom. The window was open and the room, like outside, smelled like ocean. The light next to Jack's side of the bed was still on but Jack was lying down with Wayne on top of him. Bitty frowned.

"Hey," Bitty said.

"Hey," replied Jack.

"How are you doing?"

"Ugh," was how Jack replied.

"Let me brush my teeth and I'll come to bed with you."

Bitty took off most of his clothes and brushed his teeth in the bathroom. He could see Jack in the bed through the mirror in the bathroom; Jack was quiet, his eyes closed. Wayne was fast asleep on top of him. Bitty quietly padded back into the bedroom and climbed into the bed. Wayne woke up and opened his eyes. With visible reluctance, he allowed Bitty to lie close to Jack.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Bitty asked.

"I'm just nervous," said Jack. "Not anxious. Just nervous. I know what I need to do tomorrow but it's weird that it's going to end tomorrow but I don't know how."

"Well I hope you know that I'm incredibly proud of you," said Bitty. He rested a hand on Jack's arm and Jack looked over at him; it was painful to see him this unsure of himself. "No matter what happens. I'm so glad I got to meet you and I got to be here for all of this."

"You make it sound like this is the end of it," said Jack.

"No," said Bitty with a quick shake of his head. "I'll still be here when it's over. I just won't be Eric Bittle, NBC 10."

"I liked having you there," said Jack. "I liked knowing that at the end of the practice or the end of the game that I would see your face." Bitty ran his hand down Jack's arm and laced their fingers together. Jack sighed and looked down at their intertwined hands. He brought Bitty's hand up to his mouth and gently kissed it.

"You could stay with me," said Jack. "After the season's over."

"Jack," said Bitty and it caused Jack to frown. "I don't want to move too fast."

"I know," said Jack. "But I want to you to know that you could."

They fell into silence. Jack closed his eyes so Bitty did as well. He fell asleep quickly.

When Bitty awoke the bed was cold. He didn't have to look far for Jack this time, though; Jack sat on the balcony just outside the bedroom window, his computer in his lap, Wayne by his side. Bitty got up and stood at the window behind Jack; he could see tape from game six up on Jack's screen. "Did you ever go to sleep?" Bitty asked. Jack looked behind him and the wear in his eyes was enough of an answer, but he still shook his head. "Jack, sweetie, it's still early. Come to bed with me and rest for a little bit."

"It's no use," Jack said.

"At least come to bed with me."

Jack let out a sigh but obliged. He closed his computer and reentered the bedroom with Wayne. Wayne trotted to his bed and laid down, exhausted. Jack set his computer on his desk and let Bitty pull him back to the bed. Jack lay on his back and Bitty cuddled against him, his face in Jack's neck, his arm around Jack's waist.

"It's always sad when the season is over," said Jack. "Regardless of what happens tonight. People get traded or retire. It's never exactly the same team when you come back in August."

"No, no it's not," said Bitty. He wondered how Ransom and Holster were; he hadn't spoken to them much since graduation, but at this time in the morning they were probably awake and getting ready for work. It was weird to think of Holster, who could sleep until sunset, getting up this early every single day. He wondered who was going to join the team in the fall, what they would be like and if they'd be able to help him lead the Wellies to the Frozen Four. Bitty wondered if Dex and Nursey would ever get along with each other or if he'd spend the entirety of his senior year yelling at them to shut up. He wondered if Chowder would step up and be the successor Bitty thought he could be. He wondered if he could be a good captain himself, or if his checking fear was rooted too deeply to overcome.

Jack's breathing had evened. Bitty carefully looked up; he'd fallen asleep. Bitty closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift too.

When they awoke for real, Jack was unusually quiet, but he didn't seem as nervous as he had when Bitty arrived home the night before, or even when Bitty caught him on the balcony. After showering, Bitty and Jack went downstairs to find Bob and Alicia also awake and sipping coffee in the kitchen. 

"Good morning," said Bitty.

"Good morning, boys," said Alicia. Bitty opened the refrigerator and began taking out ingredients. Jack went straight for the coffee pot and sat down at the island with his parents. Alicia ran her fingers through his hair and he let her. No one objected to omelets. No one spoke about hockey.

"Eric, are you going home to Georgia for the summer?" Alicia asked after half her omelet was gone.

"No," said Bitty. "I mean I'll go home to visit, but I'm not staying there all summer. It's so far away. I'm going to stay with my friend Larissa — she's going to RISD in the fall and she's got an apartment just off campus."

Jack looked up. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Bitty.

"That's not far from the arena," said Jack.

"No it's not," said Bitty.

"Jack, you're coming home to visit us, right?" Alicia asked. Jack nodded. "You should bring Eric."

"You should," said Bitty. 

Jack smiled. "We'll see," he chirped. Bitty stole the last bite of Jack's omelet away from him.

Bitty left the house first to pick up Ian from the station. They drove together to the arena, way earlier than necessary, so that they could get good seats in the press box. As it was, they only managed the final two seats at the end of the first row. It was enough; they could see the rink without any other heads in front of them. Bitty didn't want to miss a moment of the game. He had no quick hits scheduled. They weren't really necessary for this game. He was happy with whatever he could get after the game was over — either on the ice or in the dressing room.

He'd settled into his seat with his notebook and his phone when someone cleared their throat beside him. Bitty looked over to see a young man wearing a Falconers polo shirt and an official-looking lanyard. His badge identified him as Neil, a PR Intern.

"Mr. Bittle?"

"Whoa, I'm just an intern too," said Bitty immediately. "Can it with the Mr. Bittles."

"Um," said the intern, and Bitty waited for him to continue. "Miss Chase wants to see you in her office. Can you come now?"

"Sure," said Bitty. "Ian, don't let anyone take my spot."

"I can sit here until you come back, Mr. — um. Eric."

"Thanks," said Bitty. He got up and Neil took his seat. Bitty headed out of the press box and down the hall to Savannah's office. As predicted the door was closed, but when he attempted to open it, it was also locked. He knocked loudly. "Savannah?"

The door unlocked and opened. Bitty slipped inside and found that Savannah wasn't alone. Georgia Martin was sitting at the chair behind the desk. Savannah sat on one of the guest chairs. Bitty stood up straight and balled his fists awkwardly at the sight of George.

"Have a seat, Eric," said George. Bitty did. He felt nervous, like he was going to be fired, but then he remembered he didn't work for the Falconers. That knowledge didn't help him relax. "Have you seen Jack today?"

Bitty glanced at Savannah. He had no idea what George knew, but if he lied, Savannah would immediately know. He decided it would be best to be vague. "Yes," he said and left it at that.

"He's kind of worrying me," said George. "He's definitely not himself. You can tell right away. I love Jack and I trust Jack, but I know how he can get —" George took a deep breath. "I'm just worried. I know how he reacts to you. Can you stop by the dressing room before the game and talk to him?"

"Oh," said Bitty. "Sure."

"I'd give you a quick hit both intermissions if I could, but the network has him first. I want you to take him for the second."

"You're assigning me a quick hit," clarified Bitty.

"Yes," said George. "I don't care what you have to do. Fix him. I want his head in the game and not wherever the hell it is right now."

"I'll do my best," said Bitty.

"Not good enough," said George. "Turn his head around. Please."

"Okay," said Bitty. "I can stop by now —"

"No, I need to talk to you for a minute," said Savannah. "He'll be down in a few, George." George hesitated but left without saying anything else. Savannah closed the door behind George and then sat down at her desk. She pulled out a sheet of paper with Providence Falconers letterhead. Bitty glanced at it.

"What's this?" Bitty asked.

"It's an offer to work on my team," said Savannah. "I know you're not happy at NBC. I know you're still in school. It's not full time, but I'm prepared to bump you to full time as soon as you graduate. It's with the FalcsTV team. Similar to what you're doing now but you can also do the fun stuff. Player challenges and behind-the-scenes interviews."

Savannah pushed the letter toward Bitty. He looked at it and his eyes landed on the pay rate. He immediately sat back.

"Wow. That's… that's money, all right."

"I don't need a decision right away. We like to have the staff decided by July. Take it. Think about it. Let me know. You have my number." 

Bitty picked up the letter and stood. He had no idea what to say so he muttered a thank you and left. He folded the letter and headed toward the press box to hide it in his notebook, but he didn't make it three steps before George hustled back in his direction. "Eric," she said. "Dressing room. Now."

She led him downstairs. "It's going to be weird if you just wander in there alone," said George. "I'll get him out here. Make it quick, he's got warmies in five." Bitty waited outside the dressing room and a moment after George disappeared, Jack walked out. He was almost fully dressed, just missing his jersey and his skates. He looked at Bitty bemusedly.

"Bits? What's up? George said you wanted to talk to me."

"George wanted me to talk to you," said Bitty. "She thinks you're being weird. Are you being weird?"

"No," said Jack. Bitty looked at him and Jack smiled. Bitty immediately saw what George was concerned about; Jack was fine. He didn't look nervous or worried. He was just Jack. For a regular season game, this was normal. For the last game of the season and the Stanley Cup on the line, this was odd. Bitty didn't know what to say so he just held out the offer letter in his hand.

"Look," said Bitty.

Jack opened the letter and barely looked at it before he returned his attention to Bitty. "This is an offer. To work here."

"Yeah," said Bitty.

"Do you want to take it?" Jack asked.

"I don't know if I can," said Bitty. "I have a full course load and hockey. And I'm the captain. And it's my senior year. I don't know if I'll have time for it."

"It says it's part time," said Jack. "I'm sure you can work around your schedule."

"I'll think about it," said Bitty. "I'd love to work here. I'd love to stay near you."

Jack handed the letter back to Bitty. "We'll need to tell Savannah about us."

"She already knows," said Bitty. "She knew before she did this."

"I think George knows too," said Jack. "I think everyone knows, really. Marty and Thirdy are not known for their discretion."

"And nobody's said anything?" Bitty asked. Jack shook his head. "Huh. Well maybe that's a good thing."

"Maybe," said Jack.

George opened the door to the dressing room. "Jack. Come on."

"See you later, Bits," said Jack. Bitty hurried back to the press box before George could grab him again. When he arrived he took Neil's seat and hid his offer letter inside his notebook. Savannah knew about his relationship with Jack before she made this offer. If Jack was right, and George knew about it too, there was no reason they couldn't be open about it if he took this job. They'd have to be quiet around the rest of the press for sure, since according to Michael this was a story waiting to be told, but he wouldn't really be around the press with this kind of work. It would be nice. But, at the same time, it would also be a lot.

Both teams took the ice to warm up. Bitty leaned forward to watch and decided not to think about it. Not until this game was over.

It didn't matter what thoughts Bitty had on his mind once the puck dropped. Both teams came out for blood. Checks were harder than normal. Turnovers were prevalent. All potential breakways were broken up before a shot could be taken. Bitty stared at the puck as it sailed up and down the ice. 

Poots scored ten minutes in. Bitty shouted but his joy was short lived as Troy responded with a goal only thirty seconds later. The grind continued through the first period with no more goals, and Bitty spent the twenty minute break looking for questions to ask Jack during the second intermission. If play continued this way, he wouldn't have time to think before they had to set up in the tunnel.

Marty scored right out of the gate in the second period, but once again the Aces responded in the next shift. It felt like seconds later when Ian tapped him on the shoulder. "We should go." Bitty looked up at the time; just over one minute left in the second period.

"Crap. Yeah, let's go."

Bitty picked up his notebook and microphone and ran with Ian downstairs into the tunnel. They arrived just in time for the horn to blow. Bitty could see Jack at the end of the tunnel, standing on the ice, waiting for the rest of the team to go by. He tapped several of them with his stick as they passed and was the last to come down the rampway. He spotted Bitty and Ian and smiled brightly. Why was he in such a good mood?

"Hey," Jack said.

"Hi Jack," said Bitty. "Tell me how it's going out there."

"It's competitive," said Jack, "but the boys are doing their best. I'm really proud of what they've done this season. We've just got to get on top in these next twenty."

"How can you get on top?"

Jack smiled widely. "Well," said Jack, and Bitty immediately regretted asking the question with the way that Jack was looking at him. This footage was going to be completely unusable. "You've really got to work the D."

Bitty was certain his entire face was red. As calmly as he could, he nodded to Jack and said, "Thank you Jack."

"You're welcome," replied Jack. He didn't walk away. Bitty quickly shut off his microphone. "Hey, if we win —"

"DON'T YOU JINX THIS, JACK ZIMMERMANN."

"Okay, okay, but if we do, will you be on the ice?" Jack asked.

"Yeah," said Bitty.

"Great. See you then."

"Jack!" scolded Bitty. Jack winked at him and then walked down the rampway. Bitty looked at Ian, who had both of his eyebrows raised. "Don't you say anything."

Ian left to feed over footage to Sandy back at the station. Bitty did not want Sandy looking at that footage, but unlike Ian, Sandy had never acknowledged Bitty and Jack's unique relationship, at least not in a negative way. Bitty did not follow Ian and instead headed down toward the ice level to visit his friends before the third period started. Everyone in the crowd had been given a blue Falconers T-shirt, so finding them was difficult, but Bitty just kept walking toward the ice in their section until he recognized Holster's big head.

"Hey!" said Bitty. Lardo was sitting at the end of the row with a half-empty beer and an oversized foam finger. Shitty had purchased a Jack Zimmermann jersey with the Stanley Cup Finals logo on the chest. Ransom and Holster were both wearing their free T-shirts. All four of them jumped to their feet at the sight of Bitty.

"Bits, are you serious with these tickets?" Ransom yelled. "Look at this! We're three rows from the ice and I can see Alexei Mashkov on the bench." Bitty looked at the ice; Savannah had done well finding four seats right next to each other. They unfortunately weren't on the better end of the rink, but they were closer to the Falconers' bench, and Ransom, the farthest one in, had an easy view of it.

"No, I'm not," said Bitty with an eye roll. "You all have to leave now."

"For real, Bits, thank you," said Lardo. "I can't believe we're here. I can't believe this game! I'm so nervous for the third period."

"Same," said Bitty. He looked up at the scoreboard and avoided looking at the score and instead focused on the time. There were only three minutes of intermission left. "I can't stay. I have to get back up to the box, but I wanted to stop and say hi."

"We should go out after this," said Holster. "Get wasted."

"We'll see," said Bitty. "Depends on how it ends. I'll text you guys later."

"Thanks, Bits," said Lardo again. Bitty waved at his friends, took a hug from Lardo, and then ran back up the steps to get back to the press box in time for the puck drop. Unlike the second period, no one scored right away. In fact, fifteen minutes went by and the score was still tied at two. Bitty did not want the stress of overtime but as the time ticked away, it looked more and more likely to happen.

Then, with just under four minutes left in the third period, Marty scored on a wraparound and the entire building exploded in cheers. Bitty jumped to his feet with Ian, both shouting. Not everyone in the box shared their enthusiasm, but Ian gave Bitty a high five and they finally sat back down. Every inch of Bitty's skin was buzzing but then terror set in and he clasped his hands together in prayer that they would maintain the lead this time.

With two minutes left, Vegas pulled their goalie. Bitty's legs were jumping. All of the action was in the Falconers' zone. Time kept ticking away and Snowy faced shot after shot but the Falconers never seemed to be able to get control of the puck. Changes were nearly impossible so they happened one person at a time. Jack came on the ice for what was probably his final shift of the season. He crossed the blue line, stole the puck, turned, and sent it sailing down the opposite end toward the empty net. Bitty put both hands over his mouth. Jack's aim was true; it crossed the goal line and the horn blared again.

"JACK FUCK YES!" Bitty screamed, leaping to his feet again. There were only sixty seconds on the clock. It was unlikely, with the way these final minutes had gone, that the Aces could overcome a two-goal deficit in sixty seconds. Bitty could feel the tears on his face as he put his hands over his mouth again. 

"We gotta go," said Ian. He had his camera in his hand. The other crews were filing out of the box.

"I want to see the end," said Bitty. "I have to see the end of it. Take the camera and I'll come down as soon as it's over." Ian nodded and ran off. Bitty remained standing, his hands over his mouth, tears streaming out of his eyes, as the puck dropped again and play resumed. The Aces goalie was back in his net.

Jack won the faceoff and passed it to Tater, who gained the blue line but didn't attempt a shot. He kept possession as best he could. Time ticked away. One of the Aces stole the puck and headed in the opposite direction, flanked by Jack and Poots. He attempted a shot but Snowy kicked it away. Time continued. Jack grabbed the rebound and headed back into the Aces zone, and that was it. He crossed the blue line onside, took a shot and missed, then dropped to his knees as the horn blared. The rest of the team engulfed him. Bitty couldn't see them as he cried. He jumped and pumped his fist in the air and wiped his eyes. He was the only one in the press box.

He needed to get to the ice. He ran as fast as he could, dodging fans leaving before the ceremony, bolting as fast as his legs would carry him down to ice level. Blue and white confetti dropped from the ceiling. The ice crew was rolling out carpet to present the trophies. The entire staff and all of the reporters were already out there. Bitty continued running, his microphone in his hand, until he spotted Ian standing near the center faceoff circle. Bitty slid next to him and then searched the crowd for Jack.

Jack was still in with the jumping and shouting crowd of players. Tater was crying. Marty was screaming. Friends and family were hitting the ice now. Thirdy embraced his wife and his daughter. Jack's parents found him and hugged him. Bitty waited.

Jack let go of his mother and began looking. He caught eyes with Bitty, who stood fifty feet away. Jack separated from his parents and skated calmly over to Bitty. Ian pointed his camera at Jack. Jack stopped in front of Bitty, the smile immovable from his lips. He looked at Ian and Bitty waited for Ian's reaction. Ian looked at Bitty momentarily before he pointed the camera somewhere else. Bitty lowered the microphone in his hand.

"Hey," Jack whispered.

"Hey," replied Bitty.

"Can I kiss you?" Jack asked.

There would be consequences to this. Bitty knew it. Even if Ian pointed his camera away, there were others trained on Jack, waiting to speak to him as the captain of the 2016 Stanley Cup Champions. This was airing live across the country. When Bitty looked up at Jack, however, the rest of it disappeared. He nodded.

"Please."

 

***

 

It was a warm day. Jack awoke Bitty early, while he was still groggy and grumpy, and drove him off the island and down the coast. Bitty remembered the route from his trip there months ago, after his first and only argument with Jack. Jack had been so worried Bitty would expose him, and then there they were, on the other side of the secret Jack had been hiding since juniors. They walked hand and hand up the stairs and sat down on the edge of the balcony, their legs dangling over the sides, looking out toward the water.

"This is much nicer," Bitty said. The breeze was salty and cool in the refreshing sort of way, nothing like it had been that night in February.

"It's usually nice up here," said Jack.

Bitty closed his eyes and listened to the waves as they crashed on the shore. There was no beach on this part of the ocean, just dark rocks meeting violent water, but the rhythm of their juncture was soothing. It was always there. It never stuttered. When Bitty opened his eyes he could see the pale break of the sun as it appeared on the horizon for the first time that day.

There were a few boats on the water already, even some far out at sea. Bitty watched the one farthest out as it sailed away, growing smaller and smaller with each passing minute. The sun rose in front of it as if in salute, heralding the sailors as they began their work. When Bitty raised one of his fingers in front of his line of sight, the boat disappeared. It was a weird sort of feeling, a combination of power and insignificance: Bitty could make the boat disappear, but if he were out there on the water, the ocean could swallow him whole.

Jack rested his hand on Bitty's thigh, causing Bitty to look over. Jack draped his other arm over the railing and propped up his head, his eyes out toward the ocean, his thoughts far away. Bitty didn't want to disturb him, so he looked out toward the sun as well.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. It had been doing that all morning, and it wasn't even really daylight yet.

"Ugh," said Bitty. "It's probably Lardo wondering where I am. I told her I'd text her when we were bringing my stuff over."

"Ignore it," said Jack. 

"Like I did with my parents?" Bitty asked with a sarcastic laugh. "That turned out real well."

"Your parents love you, Bits," said Jack. "They made that very clear." He gripped Bitty's thigh once before gently beginning to run his hand up and down it. Bitty took in a deep breath; it wasn't a sexual motion but any touch in that area of his body had a high likelihood to venture down that path.

"Yeah," said Bitty, "after my mother scolded me for twenty minutes about how I never talk to her and I avoided her and she was worried about me."

"She  _ was _ worried about you."

"Still."

They were silent.

"I should tell Lardo I'm on the way," Bitty said.

"No," whined Jack. He slid closer, removed his hand from Bitty's thigh, and used it to pull Bitty up against him. "Stay here. Just… stay with me." Bitty looked over at Jack. They hadn't showered or even gotten coffee before they came here. Jack was wearing flannel pants and a Falconers T-shirt. His hair was still fluffy from sleep. His skin was shiny. Bitty never wanted to leave him.

"No," Bitty insisted. "It's good for us to spend some time apart. Get out of the bubble and reconnect with the world."

Jack snorted. "We've just answered to the whole world. That's why we came here. We need time alone."

"We'll have plenty of time to ourselves when we go to Montreal," said Bitty. "Until then, I promised Lardo."

"Fine," relented Jack, but neither moved. Bitty's head rested on Jack's chest and he felt himself begin to doze. The ocean and the crashing waves began to drift away. He suddenly opened his eyes, blinked several times, and looked up at Jack. Jack smiled at him. "You look adorable when you nod off," he said.

"You're just trying to manipulate me," said Bitty. He deliberately pushed away from Jack. Jack feigned indignation.

"I would never," replied Jack. He leaned over and gently kissed Bitty. Bitty responded softly, letting Jack kiss him for several minutes until his phone buzzed yet again. Bitty groaned.

"Ugh!" he said. Jack pouted and Bitty looked at Jack's lips. Jack replaced his hand on Bitty's thigh and began to rub it again; this touch was not as innocent. "Okay, okay," said Bitty. "Maybe a little longer."

"Maybe forever?" asked Jack.

"Maybe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! 
> 
> About a year ago I wrote a companion Patater piece to this fic called [Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11718465/chapters/26395329) if you want to check it out.
> 
> Also stop by [my tumblr](http://foryouandbits.tumblr.com/) and say hi!


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